


The Unquiet Grave

by magpie_fngrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bodyguard, Bodyguard Harry Potter, Fic Noir, Frottage, Getting Together, Gothic Romance, H/D Career Fair 2017, HP: EWE, Inventor Draco Malfoy, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Masturbation, Mentioned Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Rimming, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-12-30 19:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12115581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie_fngrl/pseuds/magpie_fngrl
Summary: When Malfoy's life is threatened, Harry agrees to work as his bodyguard. Given their recent history, that might be a mistake.





	The Unquiet Grave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiftylinguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/gifts).



> For Prompt #[13](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1LiaSm8GWFLsDD8KUOZmlTSHmhIMyFZzdqYNfB-25Khk/edit).
> 
> Dear shiftylinguini,  
> thank you for the wonderful prompt! I'm aware this gothic romance is probably not what you were expecting at all, but I do hope you like the result.
> 
> This fic wouldn't be half as good without my heavenly betas, **[Bixgirl1](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/pseuds/bixgirl1)** and **[chibaken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibaken/pseuds/chibaken)** , and their thoughtful suggestions and enthusiastic cheerleading. All remaining mistakes are mine.

 Harry had been nursing a pint in a dark corner of the Leaky when Theo Nott sat down and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

‘So what’s the invention that has Malfoy’s life threatened?’ Harry asked when Nott finished talking and lit up a cigarette.

Nott shook his head. ‘Can’t tell you — and you wouldn’t take the job if I did.’

It sounded shady as fuck. But Harry had recently finished an assignment for Oliver Wood, who’d drawn the attention of a particularly insistent stalker, and had been at a loss since then. He told himself he was in-between jobs and needed the work, but he also couldn’t ignore the tug of curiosity at the mention of Malfoy. He’d wondered how Malfoy was faring now, a year after the mysterious, sudden death of his parents.

‘You’ll have to stay in the Manor of course.’ Nott leaned back on his chair, a hand on his icegin and tonic. His amber gaze bore into Harry, lit by a knowing smile. ‘I daresay cousin Draco will appreciate the company. All alone in that big house.’

A stretch of silence rolled between them, and Nott sipped his drink. Harry supposed Nott was allowing him some time to think it over, but he couldn’t have known that Harry had already made his decision. His body had decided for him: the rising pulse, the sweat in his hands, the same spike of adrenaline he’d always felt at the mention of a job. He’d decided the moment Nott had sat down.

He knew Hermione would start again on how he was attracted to danger. Perhaps he did have a death wish, and perhaps a psychealer was what he needed in order to lose the restlessness, the jittery days and sleepless nights that had plagued him since the war. But Harry didn’t need a psychealer to ask him about his upbringing and his motherlessness when he could feel the claw marks Voldemort had left in his gut. Marks that still bled. Marks that refused to heal.

Or perhaps there was something wrong with him. A hunger that could only be satisfied with the scent of danger and the thrill of the chase.

Nott sucked on his cigarette, watching Harry. He exhaled, blowing smoke sideways. ‘We sign a deal with an investor in a week. Keep him alive until then and you’ll be showered with gold.’

 

‘But you don’t _need_ gold,’ Ron exclaimed the next day in Harry’s bedroom in Grimmauld Place. He’d taken a beer from the fridge and he sipped it now, watching Harry pack.

‘I think there’s something dodgy going on.’ Harry pulled socks from an open drawer.

‘Of course you do,’ Ron sighed. ‘Don’t get me wrong: I’d love an excuse to lock Malfoy up, but our records show he’s on the straight and narrow these days. Keeps toeing the line and all that.’ He paused and caught Harry’s eye. ‘Are you sure working for Malfoy is a good idea? After everything that happened between you? Because that would _really_ complicate things.’

Harry ignored the question and shut the wardrobe door with an elbow, his arms full of shirts. ‘Malfoy’s good at hiding things. While I’m there, I can check the invention out.’

‘If you wanted to investigate, you could’ve stayed with the Aurors,’ Ron pointed out, who had indeed stuck with the profession they’d chosen in school.

‘The Aurors,’ Harry said, remembering the endless, tedious paperwork from his six-month stint at the job, ‘would need a warrant and possible cause…’

‘Probable cause,’ Ron corrected. ‘These rules are in place for a reason, Harry.’

Harry buckled his suitcase up. ‘I was never very good with rules, Ron.’ He Summoned his own beer, which had been sweating on the mantelpiece. ‘It’ll be fine, promise. I’ve dealt with worse.’

‘So you keep saying,’ Ron said. ‘I’ve a bad feeling about this.’

Harry sipped his beer and didn’t reply.

 

oOo

 

Mist clung to the frozen grass as Harry trudged up the drive in the bitter November cold. The Manor loomed on the hill, its edges blurred in the fog, its two towers poking the steel clouds. A flash of something appeared in one of the tower windows, under the twisting gargoyles of the roof, but vanished before Harry could make out what it was. Otherwise everything was still; silent, except for the wind hissing through the bare trees, and unwelcoming, but Harry savoured the sense of purpose that quieted his restless nerves. He couldn’t stop his feet from bringing him to the front door any more than he could stop breathing.

The door opened slowly, revealing a sour-looking house-elf with long grey hair falling to his shoulders. He had the kind of face that suggested a smile was a foreign concept. ‘Do come in. Master is waiting for you.’

Harry followed the house-elf down a draughty corridor full of sullen, staring paintings and into a wood-panelled room where he came face to face with Danger.

Malfoy hadn’t changed much since the last time Harry had seen him. Still lean and angular and pale, he wore a loose, old-fashioned shirt with the cuffs hanging open around his slender wrists, and lounged on an armchair, long legs falling off the armrest. He didn’t raise his eyes from his book as he said, ‘Welcome. Danver will show you to your room.’

Harry’s heart beat fast. He put his suitcase down. ‘Hello, Malfoy.’

At the sound of his voice, Malfoy put the book down. ‘ _Potter_? Theo hired _you_?’

‘He didn’t tell you?’

Malfoy stared at him, his eyes torn with a slew of emotions, which were swiftly suppressed until one remained: ire. ‘What the _fuck_ was Theo thinking?’ He stood, agitated. The loose neckline of his shirt fell off his shoulder, revealing his collarbone and the curve of his neck.

Harry tried not to stare. ‘He was thinking that I’m the best there is,’ he said. ‘Your life is in danger and I’m here to help.’

‘Ah, the Saviour here to save me, once again,’ Malfoy sneered. ‘Well, your services won’t be needed after all. Ta for coming. Danver will see you out.’

‘Can’t do that. Magical contract. Can’t resign.’

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. He padded closer on bare feet and stood in front of Harry. ‘You’ve misunderstood. I don’t expect you to resign. I’m firing you.’

‘I didn’t sign the contract with _you_ , Malfoy.’ Harry gazed at him in what he hoped was a professional, steadfast way.

Malfoy immediately put some distance between them. He stalked to a chestnut desk in the far corner and grabbed parchment and a quill. ‘Well, if that idiot hired you, that idiot can fire you.’ He took a deep breath, indignation written all over his face. ‘I can’t even _begin_ to imagine what possessed you to accept the contract, Potter.’

‘Is it because—?’ Any words Harry had, words that referred to the last time they met, stopped in his throat. Probably a good thing. That last time, his words had fucked everything up. ‘Is that why you don’t want me here?’

Malfoy tensed when he felt Harry’s approach. ‘I simply don’t wish to suffer the company of an uncouth Gryffindor fool.’

Harry had hoped— well, he wasn’t sure what he’d hoped for, but it was something other than this. He shrugged. ‘Your insults have lost the power to sting. And they won’t help in this matter. You can’t change the contract any more than I can.’

Malfoy put the quill down. ‘Fine,’ he snapped. He gestured sharply to the house-elf, who’d been standing mute by the door. ‘Danver will take you to your room and then you can do whatever it is you do. Just get out of my face.’

Harry refrained from telling him his job was to be in Malfoy’s face the whole time, and instead followed the house-elf to a gloomy room with paintings of sea creatures hanging on the faded blue walls. Carved sea serpents decorated the marble fireplace where the elf lit up a fire before he left. Harry sat on the bed, his thoughts returning to Malfoy and his bare feet and jutting clavicle.

Perhaps Harry had made a mistake taking this job. He wasn’t so sure he would walk away from it unscathed.

 

oOo

 

Harry had returned Malfoy his wand three months after the trials. It’d been a cold September day and the village near the Malfoy woods had smelled of rain and woodsmoke. Harry waited for him at a table at the back of an old, low-ceilinged pub. It was busy in the early evening, hazy with smoke and full of the odour of sausages and spilled lager. Malfoy entered on time, pulling leather gloves from his fingers and casting a look around until he saw Harry. He gestured at the pint in front of him. ‘Another?’

‘I don’t think I should have more.’

‘Hm. Well, I don’t intend to see this meeting through sober.’

He had a point and Harry relented. Malfoy returned with their drinks. He took his coat off and sat down, downing his whisky chaser at once. Harry didn’t speak for some moments, looking instead at Malfoy’s attempt at Muggle clothing. He was dressed sharply — for a 19th-century gentleman. His movements were languid and graceful, but his eyes seemed as wounded as the ones Harry saw in the mirror every morning.

‘Is there a purpose to this meeting or did you ask me out here to stare at me?’ Malfoy drawled.

Harry felt his cheeks burning. ‘How are your parents?’ he deflected.

Malfoy paused with his pint at his lips. ‘Are we exchanging pleasantries now?’

Harry snorted. ‘That’s not us, is it?’

Malfoy gave him a small smile. ‘No, that’s never been us.’

Harry figured he might as well get on with it. He took the wand out of his pocket and laid it on the table. ‘I wanted to return this. I know you’ve had trouble finding a new wand, so I figured—’

Malfoy stared. He put down his pint slowly and glanced at the wand, then back at Harry. ‘I can have it back?’ He didn’t ask how Harry knew about the wandmakers that had turned down his custom.

Harry pushed it to him and Malfoy wrapped his fingers around it. Some sparks erupted from the tip, and Harry looked around in alarm, but the patrons were absorbed in their dinners and no one seemed to have noticed. ‘Put that away, you’ll break the Statute.’

Malfoy smiled as he tucked the wand away. ‘It’s happy, Potter. I can’t help it being excited now that it’s back in the hands of a proper wizard. Now that it’ll see proper magic and not whatever pathetic spells you attempted—’

‘Like killing Voldemort?’ Harry said casually.

Malfoy flinched. He stared back at his pocket, his chest rising and falling. ‘I forgot,’ he said simply.

‘Lucky you,’ Harry said, his voice bitter.

Malfoy stared at him now. Harry knew what he looked like; dark circles from sleepless nights and hands that couldn’t stay still. He’d thought that after it was done, after Voldemort was gone, things would be different. That life would unfold with no cares or worries. But he couldn’t shake off the war. The terror that he’d assumed he’d buried, along with his friends and enemies, had taken residence in his veins and suffocated him from the inside out.

Malfoy nodded, as if Harry’s face had told him something he agreed with. ‘I appreciate you coming all this way,’ he said.

Harry shrugged, his fingers ceaselessly tapping his pint. ‘Happy to. I mean, I could do with— you know, it’s nice to get away for a bit.’ He bit his lip, wondering if Malfoy could discern how much Harry hated being in London and in the Ministry; how cooped up he felt.

Malfoy downed his drink. Harry sat back, expecting him to get up and leave. Instead, Malfoy leaned back in his chair and looked at Harry. ‘Well? Are you getting the next round?’

It was a way of saying _thank-you_ , Harry supposed, when he placed the order at the bar. Malfoy offering him the only thing he could at the moment: some company, even if it wasn’t particularly agreeable.

One round followed another. A stream of people came and went, eating, drinking and taking little notice of the two of them at the back, except to frown at Malfoy’s tapered trousers, scarlet waistcoat and silk white scarf. After four pints, Harry felt comfortable enough to tease him about it. Malfoy threatened with making badges.

‘They were quite successful last time.’

‘I hated them.’

Malfoy pointed at him with his pint. ‘Exactly.’

Harry found it hilarious. Everything was hilarious by then, and easy, his mind a haze of alcohol and soft-edged sight. The talk moved to their school years by the fifth pint, the Quidditch games, and Malfoy’s fierce resentment over Harry beating him to the Snitch. ‘Will never forgive that,’ he slurred, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned, the scarf loose around his neck. ‘Not until I beat you, just the once.’

Harry put down his glass with a thud. ‘Bring it on. I’ll play right now if you want.’

‘Fucking yes, I’ll show you.’ Malfoy stood, staggered, but righted himself. ‘Coming, Potter?’

Harry grabbed his coat and stood. The pub tilted a little. ‘You’ll never beat me, Malfoy.’

Outside, night had fallen and the wind blew hard, rustling russet leaves and cutting through Harry’s shirt. He had some trouble putting on his coat; he managed to slip his right arm in but couldn’t find the other sleeve. ‘Hold on,’ he mumbled, ‘something wrong with my coat.’

‘Always useless, Potter,’ Malfoy drawled and came unsteadily near. He placed his hands on either side of Harry’s neck and held the collar straight. ‘Put your arm in— the _other_ arm, Potter. Yes, that’s the one.’

Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy this close up since that night at the Manor. He gazed at Malfoy’s smooth brow and fair lashes and the tiny mole on his cheek near his jaw. Malfoy smelled like something expensive, cedar and spice, and his beery breath fogged in the air just in front of Harry. Feeling his heart beat as fast as when he’d run away from the Snatchers, Harry leaned in and brushed his lips to Malfoy’s.

Malfoy froze. His eyes met Harry’s, fearful and wide, but they flicked to Harry’s mouth. Harry pressed his lips to Malfoy’s again. His mind marvelled at how firm and plush they felt. Harry had never kissed a boy before; his alcohol-soaked body reacted enthusiastically to the idea and protested when Harry pulled away. He stared at Malfoy, his heart thudding in his ears.

Malfoy’s hands slipped from his collar to his neck. His eyes searched Harry’s face, mistrusting, and for a moment it seemed like he’d say something. But then, his face _yielded_. That’s how Harry remembered it all those nights afterwards when the memory of it was all he had. A yearning washed over Malfoy’s face, a softening so beautiful that Harry ached. They both crashed their lips together then. Harry shuddered and opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. Malfoy tasted of ale and a hint of whisky and Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s back and pressed him tight against him, kissing him breathlessly, pulsating with joy. He felt as if bolts of electricity ran under his skin, electrifying the air around him; he almost worried he’d catch fire; he wouldn’t stop even if he did.

All too soon, his lips tasted cold air, his chest cooled; Malfoy had pulled away, stepped back. His eyes were stormy in the dim streetlight of the Muggle village. Harry was brought back to himself, his mind a tangle of emotions and booze, doubts and burning desire. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, until Malfoy cleared his throat and said in a raspy voice, ‘Thank you for returning my wand, Potter.’ Turning his back, he strode down the lane.

 

oOo

 

After unpacking, Harry walked the grounds and poked at the wards. They held tight, which meant nothing of course. To protect someone from a determined assassin meant to know there was always something you’d overlooked. But it was a start.

His patrol led him past a pond, its water rippling from the wind, and through a copse of cypresses to a small graveyard. Following an impulse, he pushed the wrought-iron gate and wandered around the graves. An unseen bird fluttered by, the sound muffled by the mist that wrapped tendrils around the statues of weeping witches and scythe-bearing angels. Two crows stared at him with beady eyes from the iron fence. Harry shivered in the cold and perused the graves. Worn by the weather and the passing of time, many names and dates were illegible, but Harry knew these went back a thousand years, generations of scheming Malfoys resting side by side, their names and deeds all but forgotten.

The round mausoleum in the middle of the graveyard beckoned. It seemed a recent addition, the stone walls smooth and the two marble tombs gleaming in a violet light; a closer look at the silver candlesticks revealed the violet flame came from a strange sort of candle, black with silver swirls and covered in a sticky substance.

Harry was examining the candle when a faint sound made his hair stand on end. He listened intently. Nothing for a few moments and then, there it was: a scratching came from one of the tombs. He stalked closer, cold sweat running down his back, but the sound stopped before he could make out what it was.

Harry’s frantic heartbeats slowed down as silence swelled again in the dim, violet-lit space. He stared at the final resting place of Malfoy’s parents. A bouquet of pale golden roses and black orchids rested on Narcissa’s tomb. Next to her was Lucius.

No flowers decorated his tomb.

Harry cast a last look around the place and was about to leave when another sound, much closer, came from behind him. He swivelled, whipping out his wand—

—at Malfoy’s elf. ‘Dinner’s at seven,’ the house-elf intoned and bowed out of the mausoleum.

 

Harry spent the hour before dinner searching the Manor for possible dangers, opening doors and peering into musty rooms, his feet leaving prints in the thick dust.

It was a vast place. The wind picked up and rattled the arched windows in the dark corridors, disturbing the sprawling silence. No torches burned in the Manor and Harry had to rely on his _Lumos_ when night fell. He ignored the paintings, haughty men with curling lips and women sneering behind lace fans, and tried to shake off the feeling of being watched.

On the third floor of the west wing Harry found more of the same: untouched bedrooms, a dusty library, a study with views of the formal gardens at the back. He was so used to the silence that he jumped when a dull thud echoed from upstairs. His pulse speeding up, wand out, he rushed to the wooden door where the noise had come from. He tried the handle.

‘ _Alohomora_!’ The door didn’t budge. He ran his palm over the door frame; perhaps a _Diffindo_ would—

‘Can I help you?’

Malfoy was standing behind him. He was wearing all black now, polished shoes and a silk purple cravat, looking elegant and sly like a knife hidden in a sleeve. Harry shivered. The look in Malfoy’s eyes both unnerved and aroused him.

‘Where does this door lead?’ Harry asked.

‘My laboratory.’ Malfoy took a step closer, standing between Harry and the door.

‘I heard a noise. I need to check it out. Can you open the door for me?’

‘That’s out of the question,’ Malfoy’s silky voice replied. The light from the _Lumos_ lit his cheekbones and cast his eyes in deep shadows. ‘I’m afraid I can’t allow anyone in there.’

‘Your attacker might try to break in—’

‘I’ll say this once,’ Malfoy interrupted in a smooth voice that hid an edge, ‘this tower is off limits.’

Harry felt his fingertips tingling, his senses sharpened and alert. He’d known Malfoy was up to something. He could always tell. ‘As you wish,’ he replied, letting the matter rest for now, and allowed Malfoy to lead him to dinner.

A round table waited for them in what Malfoy called the Velvet Room as he took the seat farthest from the fireplace. A single violet-flamed candle burned in the middle of the wine-coloured tablecloth, laden with plates of venison, roast potatoes and a blackberry sauce as thick as blood. Harry glanced at Malfoy furtively as he ate, wanting to speak, but saying nothing. The crackling of the fire, the howling wind and the tinkling of cutlery replaced the words they would not say.

Halfway through dinner, Malfoy cleared his throat. ‘Please allow me to apologise for my hostile welcome earlier. I was startled. I didn’t expect it’d be _you_ , that’s all.’

Harry could read between the lines. ‘I won’t make inappropriate passes at you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.’

Malfoy pursed his lips. ‘That’s a relief. Would hate to be pawed at by the help.’

Harry clutched his fork, abruptly angry. He wondered if Malfoy had any idea that he was the first man Harry had kissed. He wondered how he’d react if he knew that he was the person who had brought a truth about Harry to the surface, making him realise something crucial about himself. Harry had walked away from that kiss a changed man.

He wondered if Malfoy thought of Harry as often as Harry thought of him.

‘I’ve never seen a candle like this one before,’ Harry said to change the subject.

‘Of course you haven’t. I invented them.’

‘Why would you invent _candles_?’

Malfoy raised his eyes from his plate. He deliberated for a few moments before he replied. ‘These candles emit light, but no heat. They don’t burn, Potter.’ To demonstrate, he ran his fingers through the violet flame, unhurriedly; a smile lit up his face as he did so. _Pride_. Malfoy was proud of this.

He withdrew his fingers. ‘Try it.’

Harry put down his fork and touched the flame. It was cold, but not uncomfortably so; the flame felt like a cool draught more than anything else. Harry could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him as he turned his palm over the violet light. He realised he didn’t need to ask why Malfoy had felt the need to invent heat-less candles: the unlit torches in the corridors, the distance Malfoy kept from the fireplace, the candles that didn’t burn were answer enough.

He drew his hand back. ‘Is there a market for this?’

‘Not really,’ Malfoy shrugged. ‘But most of the things I invent are for me, not for sale.’

‘Except for the one that’s put your life in danger.’

‘That was for me as well.’ Malfoy took a sip of his wine and looked at Harry with a smirk on his face. ‘Did you believe Theo when he said my life was threatened?’

Harry just stared.

‘Honestly, this is just like him. Making such a big deal of it to drum up excitement for the sale. As if the interested parties aren’t aware of how valuable the device is.’

‘Valuable enough to kill you?’

Malfoy met his eyes. The flickering fire light warmed the colour of his hair, molten gold rather than silver. ‘Yes.’ But he shrugged again, a graceful shoulder rising and falling, and returned to his steak. ‘I still don’t think a broken window was cause for such _drama_. But Theo always likes to make a big fuss of things.’

‘Why don’t you sell it to the Ministry? If it’s as valuable as you claim?’

Malfoy laughed. ‘The Ministry? Potter, they’d lock me up if they knew what it could do.’

Harry’s curiosity was piqued no end. It was clear as day Malfoy was involved in something dark. He remembered Year Six, and Malfoy looked the same now: hollow-cheeked, his hair pushed back, circles under his eyes. The desire to find out what he was hiding was overwhelming — only slightly exceeded by his desire to shove Malfoy on the rug and have his way with him.

Both desires inappropriate for a _bodyguard_.

As the plates cleared, making way for dessert, Harry gazed around the room, the peeling silk wallpaper, the antique rosewood chairs and moth-eaten velvet curtains, twitching from a draught, breathing as if alive. Violet light bounced off the silverware onto a frayed Persian rug. Everything was elaborate and overwrought and sensual — splendid but also tarnished with age.

In the middle of this soft decay, Malfoy’s looks stood out stark and startling, despite the faint air of fatigue and the haunted eyes. Or perhaps because of them. Taking a bite from the cloying dessert, Harry stared at Malfoy, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, memories of a dark alcove intruding in his mind.

He shook his head to clear it. ‘Why did Nott hire me then?

‘I don’t know.’ Malfoy’s eyes flicked to Harry’s lips, then to his plate. ‘Perhaps to torment me.’

Harry put down his fork, his stomach in knots, and gulped some water. He grasped for another topic, landing on what was at the forefront of his mind. ‘Who else visits the tower?’

Unfortunately, that topic pissed Malfoy off. ‘Dinner isn’t the right time for an interrogation, Potter.’

‘But I heard—’

‘It was your imagination,’ Malfoy snapped. ‘Perhaps one of the gargoyles on the roof belched. They tend to do that when they’ve had a whole pigeon for dinner.’ His face, half in shadow, tightened. ‘Is this why you’ve taken the job? Because you suspect me of dark deeds?’

‘Am I wrong to suspect? You make it sound like this … invention is something deadly.’

Malfoy picked up his knife. ‘The device is like this knife. You can use it to cut your binds and free yourself — but you can also use it to kill.’ Glittering eyes met Harry’s. ‘I can assure you my intention isn’t to harm anyone. Quite the opposite, in fact. And the buyer’s intention is the same. Now, unless you manage to remind yourself of your place here — _as my bodyguard_ — I will write to Theo and insist he relieve you _immediately_ of your duties.’

It was the last thing Harry wanted. He raised placating palms. ‘No more questions.’

The meal done, Harry was considering going for a last patrol of the grounds when Malfoy, who’d been staring at his empty plate for some time, raised his eyes. ‘Stay for a nightcap?’

Harry swallowed. He shifted in his chair, hoping to disguise the fact he’d been half-hard throughout dinner. He should flee immediately, go outside, get some fresh air.

‘Yes,’ he said.

Harry deposited his napkin on his half-eaten pudding and followed Malfoy to the sofa, while the plates disappeared, the tablecloth folded itself and the table walked out of the room. Harry refused the offer of alcohol and accepted a bottle of butterbeer. Malfoy poured himself a generous measure of smokegnac and sat on the other side of the sofa.

‘I read about your heroic rescue of that witch in Japan last year. The Yakuza, wasn’t it? Good thing you weren’t … distracted on the job.’

Malfoy’s aim was unerring and Harry tensed. He sipped his butterbeer as an answer, ignoring the jab.

‘But you disappeared afterwards. Where to, if I may ask?’

Harry tried to decipher the intention behind the curiosity, but he couldn’t make out Malfoy’s eyes in the dim room. He unclenched his hand and placed his butterbeer on the spindly table by his side. He didn’t know how to navigate these waters, between him and Malfoy, so he settled for being honest. ‘Namibia. I spent six months in the desert with a warlock who’d messed with the wrong tribe.’

Harry had felt nothing but gratitude for the contracts that took him away from London. In those last few months before he resigned, he’d thought he saw Voldemort everywhere — in street corners, in the shadows of a pub, or staring from first-floor windows; glimpses of masked wizards turned out to be random Muggles reading their newspapers in the tube, making his pulse race, his breath come out shallow.

‘I seem to remember you working for the Aurors for a while,’ Malfoy was saying now. ‘Rounding up the last of us. The Death Eaters.’

Harry’s first three months on the job had been different. He’d enjoyed having a purpose again. So what if he spent most of the week in Muggle motels or wizarding hideouts, cloaked or Disillusioned, wand at the ready? Nightmares rarely troubled him when he was on the chase, grief didn’t visit him when he was on the move, and the memories somehow were easier to handle. His pulse beat a steady rhythm in his ears and he felt alive. He remembered the chase on broomsticks through the night sky, dodging curses from the fleeing Death Eaters, city lights bright below him, and above him the stars close enough to touch. Dolohov was fast on a broom, but not as fast as Harry. He’d howled when Harry disarmed him, swooping down to grab his falling wand while the rest of the team reached them and cornered Dolohov.

Harry had kept Dolohov’s wand. He had a collection now that he showed to no one, and he’d made Kreacher swear never to divulge. ‘It seemed that when the Death Eaters were all apprehended, there was nothing left for me to do.’

 _We needed all hands on deck, but not anymore. Now’s time to rest_ , Robards had patted his back. And so Harry had spent hours in a cubicle, his palms sweating, his skin clammy, thinking that life was a dream, fearing he’d wake up and find himself in the forest again.

Malfoy tilted his head. ‘Not all Death Eaters. They weren’t _all_ apprehended.’

There was something suggestive in Malfoy’s voice that left Harry dizzy. He could only stare, his hard-on worse than before, his blood as fiery as the smokegnac. Malfoy looked like a dark whisper in the shadows, like something coiling out of sight. Harry had a malfunctioning self-preservation instinct, but that neglected voice warned him he’d get burned if he pursued what he desperately desired to.

‘Are you saying you might one day be apprehended yourself?’ Harry asked in a hoarse voice. He coughed to clear it.

Malfoy swirled his drink. ‘It depends on who does the … apprehending.’

Harry swallowed hard. He gulped his drink down.

Malfoy rose. His long fingers touched Harry’s bottle. ‘Another? Or a _real_ one this time?’

Harry met Malfoy’s hungry eyes. ‘I don’t drink on the job—’

The door creaked. They both turned their heads, but no one came in. A gust of wind swept through the room. Harry jumped to his feet, the hairs on his arms rising. He pulled his wand out.

Malfoy turned back to him. ‘It’s probably the—’

A shutter banged and then a wail echoed from upstairs. Harry dashed out of the room and took the steps two at a time.

‘Wait!’ Malfoy ran behind Harry.

The noise was coming from the locked door of the tower. By the time Harry stopped in front of it, Malfoy had reached him, and the unlit landing had gone quiet.

‘Will you let me explain? I left a window open. That’s all,’ Malfoy panted.

‘And the wail? Open the door, Malfoy!’

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you forgetting your place, _bodyguard_? You’re not here to give me orders. You’re here to thwart attempts on my life.’

‘This could well be an attack on your life.’

Malfoy rolled his eyes, infuriating Harry. ‘ _Impossible_ —’ he started, but another wail interrupted them. The anguish in the eerie voice terrified Harry. It came from right behind the door. He took a step back, covering Malfoy with his body, ignoring Malfoy’s scoff, as—

—as a ghost came through the door, her hands wringing the stem of a flower. ‘Cruel, so cruel,’ she lamented and spread ghostly petals on the floor. ‘There you are, Abraxas,’ she told Malfoy. ‘Father is making me distraught, I swear— _oh_. Oh _,_ hullo.’ The ghost gaped at Harry. She was young, early-twenties probably, with a stream of fair hair and a resemblance to, surprisingly, Nott. She stretched her hand towards Harry and buried it in his hair. ‘You have the same hair as him,’ she murmured, running her fingers across Harry’s scalp.

Harry shuddered with cold. He wished ghosts would ask for permission before they touched you or ran through you.

Coyly, the ghost pulled her hand back and turned to Malfoy. ‘Abraxas, won’t you introduce us?’

Malfoy sighed. ‘It’s _Draco_.’ He looked relieved, his posture relaxed. ‘This is my Great Aunt Flavia Malfoy,’ he said in a formal voice. ‘Flavia, this is Mr Harry Potter.’

‘Charmed I’m sure.’ She fluttered her eyelids. ‘An esteemed guest, I imagine?’

‘A _servant_ ,’ Malfoy said, smirking at Harry’s look of rage. ‘He’s not here to court you. Get lost.’

Flavia huffed. ‘Rude! I’ll tell Father all about your behaviour, Abraxas,’ she hissed and glided back through the door. Malfoy rolled his eyes and pulled Harry away. ‘If you’d stopped and let me explain, I’d have told you what the wail was. Flavia is the Manor ghost. She can be noisy. All that running you did — very _impressive_ — was for nothing.’

‘This is my job, Malfoy,’ Harry said, ‘to run — even if it’s for nothing.’

‘Well, I feel _very_ protected now.’ They’d reached Harry’s bedroom. ‘Good night. Oh, and Potter?’ Harry paused with his hand on the handle and turned to meet Malfoy’s glare. ‘Don’t forget why you’re here.’

Harry shut the door behind him and rubbed his temples. Why _was_ he here? He’d known it would be a mistake to work for Malfoy, especially after what had happened between them, and he’d suspected the invention was dangerous, if not downright illegal. And yet, here he was, in a haunted house with an unquiet grave, a locked tower, and a violently attractive host.

And all Harry could think of was Malfoy’s mouth.

 

oOo

 

Seven months after the kiss and two weeks into his new job, Harry’s client, the bassist of the Weird Sisters, had been hired to perform at the Shafiqs’ eldest daughter’s birthday ball. Harry stood by an open window, watching the constant motion in the room: couples swirled on the dancefloor as piano notes merged with thrumming violins; red-robed waiters circulated with trays of smoked-salmon canapés, pheasant and prune wraps, and rose-scented sugar cakes; photographers wove between guests, snapping photos of white-haired members of the Wizengamot, the carefully dishevelled friends of the birthday girl who fancied herself a painter, distinguished foreign visitors, and, furtively, the Boy Who Lived standing guard in a corner. Harry ignored the photographers, knowing that soon they’d be bored. The babble of the guests rose and fell, laughter and polite exclamations under red lanterns bobbing from the ceiling. In the midst of this elegant chaos, his client, Silva, and her band, dressed in artfully-torn robes, talked loudly, guzzled champagne and gave the older guests something to complain about.

Harry inhaled the cool March night air and cast his eyes over the room, checking the exits, the waiters (he’d been allowed to run a Polyjuice test on them before the ball, but that had been an hour ago) and the guests who approached Silva for an autograph. His senses were alert and focused, and he felt once again alive. Grounded. No sweaty palms or twitching fingers or palpitations. Ever since he’d left the Aurors and got this job, he found to his surprise that he could sleep again, more or less.

Silva winked at him from afar and he nodded. Drawing his eyes from her, he examined the crowd again and his breath hitched.

Malfoy, his arm linked with his mother’s, strolled across the ballroom, looking debonair in night blue robes threaded with silver. Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waitress, he glanced around the room and his eyes met Harry’s. He arched an eyebrow, a silent question. Harry gave him a minute shrug as a reply. Malfoy’s gaze lingered on him, but then Narcissa spoke to her son and he followed her into the crowd.

Harry had some trouble focusing on exits and suspicious movements after that; his eyes kept seeking Malfoy. Once, he thought he saw a wizard pull out a wand next to Silva and almost jumped him. It turned out to have been a handkerchief, and Harry exhaled and circled the room a few times, moving about to forget what Malfoy made him feel.

A couple of hours later, Harry had returned to the open window and Malfoy traipsed to his side, holding a scarlet cocktail. ‘I’m almost sure I wasn’t served actual blood, but can you try it and tell me? You never know the depths of revenge people will descend to.’

‘I don’t drink on the job,’ Harry said, studying him.

Malfoy looked well. He’d regained his former composure, the cultivated air of disinterest that seemed to be the trademark of his class, but underlying the arrogance was a thread of vulnerability that Malfoy had lacked before the war. Somehow it made him look stronger.

Harry took a look at Malfoy’s cocktail. ‘What’s this supposed to be?’

‘A Muggle concoction. Bloody Mary, I was told.’ He pulled the celery stick out to frown at it. ‘Do Muggles actually drink blood or is it a euphemism?’

‘They don’t, but—’ Harry glanced at his charge to ensure all was well before he turned to Malfoy. ‘Give it here.’ He put the straw in his mouth and grimaced. ‘Just as I thought. Dragon blood.’

‘What?’ Malfoy’s eyes widened.

Harry laughed. ‘Just joking. It’s tomato juice.’

Malfoy swatted his arm. ‘You’re a menace, Potter.’ A blush tinted his cheeks alluringly.

Harry forced his eyes back to his client. ‘Did you really think they’d serve dragon blood in a high society ball?’

‘It’s the _only_ place they’d serve dragon blood. I’ve heard the stories.’ To Harry’s raised eyebrow, he said lightly, ‘Old pureblood parties last century — it’ll freak your noble sensibilities a little too much, so I won’t go into further detail. Suffice it to say, they were _wild_.’

Malfoy sipped his drink and stared at the crowd. They didn’t speak. Harry glanced at him surreptitiously a few times, feeling his pulse surge when Malfoy glanced back.

Ron had insisted that Harry didn’t find Malfoy attractive. ‘He was just there, mate,’ he’d said. ‘You were trolleyed and you wanted to kiss a boy and he was there, it was convenience, nothing more.’ Harry had allowed Ron to convince him. In his eagerness to purge all thoughts of Malfoy from Harry’s mind (‘can tell you’re pining, mate, don’t you think I know you well enough by now?’), Ron had proceeded to set Harry up with colleagues and friends: tall, burly Aurors and lithe Unspeakables and once he mentioned a Weasley cousin, Bradley or something. ‘Looks like us, you know? Red-hair, freckles, a bit lanky, whaddya think?’ to which Harry had replied that it’d feel like kissing Ron. Ron immediately forgot he even had a cousin.

Harry had kissed men since Malfoy. He’d groped them and been groped, he’d made out, he’d been sucked off once and he’d enjoyed it. He came in his pants, on men’s fingers, on their face, but no experience had matched the thrill of that rather chaste kiss in the village lane. He’d tried kissing men drunk, kissing men sober, kissing men stoned, but any desire he’d felt fizzled out after the snogging, and Harry worried that the war had fucked him up in that respect, too. Now, he knew that Ron had been wrong: Harry did find Malfoy attractive, so attractive it hurt.

‘So,’ Malfoy said after a heavy silence and many glances at each other, ‘a hired wand, eh? Not what people expected the Golden Boy to end up doing.’

‘Disappointed?’

‘Me? No, I like the — unexpected.’

‘What about you?’

‘Internship at Madam Belford's magical repair shop.’

‘Unexpected,’ Harry commented.

‘Indeed,’ Malfoy smiled. He gave him a heated look. ‘When are you off?’

A swarm of butterflies swooped in Harry’s stomach. ‘I, um, work around the clock.’

‘I see,’ Malfoy said, his face shutting down. He left the glass on the window sill and made to leave.

Harry panicked at the thought of Malfoy walking away from him again. He grabbed his forearm. ‘No, it’s— I take breaks, when she’s at home, but—’ It was hard to explain. This job gave him no time for himself. It was why he took it. ‘I might have some time later on, when she’s on stage. I could take a … bathroom break.’ He could cast a _Protego Maxima_ on the stage and she’d perform behind it.

‘I’ll see you then,’ Malfoy smiled and left.

When the Weird Sisters went on stage, their performance a special treat for the birthday girl, Harry cast the _Protego_ and headed to the loo, telling himself it was just a toilet break. His palms were sweaty and his mouth dry as a bone. He consoled himself with the thought that perhaps Malfoy wouldn’t be there, he was only teasing, he hadn’t said anything about actually meeting up—

But there he was, at the end of the corridor, examining the portrait of a prancing horse in a gilded frame. He turned his head when he heard Harry’s footsteps and smiled, a glorious, wicked smile that had Harry half-hard. Without a word, he grabbed Harry and pushed him into a tapestry-covered alcove.

‘So…’ he started, but Harry didn’t let him continue. He kissed him hard, slamming him to the wall, crowding him with his body.

‘Potter, you’re a _savage_ ,’ Malfoy purred and kissed him, his arms at Harry’s back, pressing him even closer. Every inch of Harry flared against the delicious hardness of Malfoy’s body. He wanted him so much and he wanted to touch him all over, but he couldn’t. All he had were ten stolen minutes, ten minutes in which he slid his hands under Malfoy’s poncy robes and fumbled with the zip of his trousers to grab his long, throbbing cock and stroke him furiously, desperately, while Malfoy threw his head back with a delighted gasp. Harry nipped at the exposed column of his neck, sucking at his skin, leaving marks on Malfoy like footprints in newly-fallen snow.

Malfoy gazed at him with half-lidded eyes. ‘Did you think of me?’

‘No.’ Harry nuzzled his neck. ‘Not once.’

‘ _Liar_.’ Malfoy smiled and kissed him again, softly this time, a hand cupping his cheek. The tenderness in his touch melted every one of Harry’s bones. Malfoy kissed him again, deep and hot, his hands working Harry’s flies open and tugging down his pants. Harry’s cock sprang out, hard and leaking, and Malfoy’s breath hitched as he ran his delicate, cruel fingers over it, swiping at the beads of precome. Harry gasped and pressed closer to Malfoy, helplessly bucking his hips into Malfoy’s fist.

‘Here,’ Malfoy rasped, and brought their cocks together, wrapping his hand around them both.

The sensation overwhelmed Harry; the need for Malfoy’s touch, his skin, his taste was almost blinding. The alcove had disappeared, his whole world had narrowed down to a debauched Malfoy, hair mussed, eyes bright, lips swollen. Grinding against him in slow, firm movements, Harry kissed that taunting little mole he’d noticed last time, and ran his fingers through Malfoy’s hair, messing it even more.

‘Oi,’ Malfoy complained, but his eyes laughed. Harry kissed him and licked his lips.

‘Mm, dragon blood.’

‘Potter, you’re an _idiot_.’ Flushed and breathless, Malfoy grinned, radiating pure lust, and Harry wanted to _devour_ him. Grunting, he rubbed harder against Malfoy, watching raptly as he closed his eyes and moaned. Harry kissed his face, his neck, his stupid mole, and increased the pace, his need driving his hips urgently, sweat gathering in his back.

‘Oh, Harry, you...’ Malfoy didn’t finish his sentence. They both lost control then, grinding wildly, holding each other tight as they came with muffled gasps.

Harry flopped his forehead onto Malfoy’s shoulder and attempted to regain his breath. Malfoy buried his hand in Harry’s hair, stroking it absent-mindedly.

‘I did think of you,’ Harry admitted when his pulse calmed down.

‘Of course you did.’ Malfoy attempted a smirk but his face held only joy. Something in Harry’s chest heated up and he pressed his lips lingeringly against Malfoy’s before he pulled away.

Taking out his wand, Malfoy performed a cleaning spell on both of them. Harry checked his watch and reality rushed in. ‘Shit, it’s almost time.’ The Weird Sisters would finish in less than five minutes, and Silva would need to be escorted home. He hoped the distant throb coming from down the corridor meant that the gig had carried on as planned. Guilt flooded him. Anything could have happened to Silva and he’d be in an alcove, getting his rocks off. ‘This shouldn’t have happened,’ he muttered, straightening his robes.

He felt Malfoy freeze next to him and realised what he’d said. ‘I meant I can’t afford to be distracted by—’

‘By blokes who want to date you?’

‘Date?’ Harry gaped at Malfoy. ‘I can’t _date_ — can’t even consider it—’. Harry didn’t have the _time_ to go on dates, his job required him to be by someone else’s side at all times.

Malfoy pursed his lips. ‘I see. This is just a diversion for you, a drunken meaningless kiss or a way to spend ten boring minutes at work—’

‘I would be out there doing my job if it wasn’t for—’ Harry paused, a huge mistake.

‘I get it, Potter. Apologies for _distracting_ you. Ta for the good times.’

 _If it wasn’t for how much I wanted you_ , was what Harry had meant to say, but he didn’t get the chance to. Malfoy had stormed out of the alcove and out of his life.

 

oOo

 

After Malfoy bid him goodnight, Harry paced in front of the ornate fireplace, his mind replaying everything that had happened that day. He didn’t know what to make of Malfoy’s assertion that the signs of an attempted break-in meant nothing, but Nott had told Harry that Malfoy would be difficult.

As if that was news to Harry.

He approached the window and gazed out at the grounds, his mind full of images of defiled tombs and unholy experiments. Perhaps Malfoy, like Frankenstein, hid a monster in his laboratory. The rational part of Harry’s mind (it had the voice of Hermione) scoffed at such ideas, but Harry shivered. The Manor at Wiltshire felt worlds apart from London and its reassuring Muggleness. A peacock strutted across the lawn, but otherwise nothing moved except the wind through the trees. For a thousand years, the residents of the house had woken up to this view. Timelessness coated every inch of the place and he wondered what it might be like, growing up rooted in such history — and if it’d be possible for Malfoy to escape the path his ancestors had laid out for him.

A chill crept into his bones and he returned to the fireplace and poked the wood, but a shower of sparks made him jump. He slipped on the rug, grasped the horn of one of the serpents on the mantelpiece for balance — it moved — and a panel of the wall creaked open.

Harry peered at the dark passage, scrunching his face at the overpowering smell of damp. He cast a _Muffliato_ on his shoes and pushed himself into the narrow space. Mice scurried along the walls and thick cobwebs caught in Harry’s hair. No one had been there in decades. Stone walls alternated with wooden panels, presumably secret entrances to other rooms. He followed the passage until he saw two pinpricks of light pierce the darkness. Casting _Nox_ , he padded close.

The holes were eye-level. Peering through them, he could see a bedroom. He recognised it from his search before: it was Malfoy’s, all dark wood and heavy emerald curtains. It was dark apart from the embers in the fireplace, the only amount of fire, Harry assumed, that Malfoy could tolerate. Malfoy sat by the fire with a glass in his hand. He stared at the amber liquid, deep in thought, the soft glow illuminating half of him, the other half in shadow.

Harry studied him, exhilarated to be able to do so unobserved. In all his life, he’d never felt anything like the pull he felt now watching Malfoy tip his head back on the armchair, his neck bright in the light, his fingers dangling the now empty glass until it fell on the rug with a dull thud.

Harry might have left, presuming him asleep, if Malfoy hadn’t sighed then, unbuttoning his trousers at the same time. Pushing open his flies, he pulled down the waistband of his briefs and wrapped his fingers around his cock, stroking slowly.

Harry’s mouth filled with saliva. A little voice told him he should leave, but it was drowned out by the rushing of blood to his groin, filling his cock, glueing him to the wall. He felt physically unable to make his legs move. Instead, he fumbled open his jeans and grabbed his hardening cock. Malfoy’s strokes were luxurious, slow. Mesmerizing. A bead of precome glistened on the head as he tugged his foreskin up and down, up and down, hypnotizing Harry, who bit his lips to stop himself from panting too loudly.

Malfoy shifted in his chair and opened his legs. His other hand rolled over his balls and he moaned. Harry splayed his fingers on the wall for balance and matched Malfoy’s increasing speed. Waves of pleasure shot through him, and he wanted to close his eyes and sink in the sensation as he rushed to an orgasm, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he missed a second of this. He wanted to see more — he wanted to see Malfoy’s chest, his stomach, his hipbones. His arse and back and bare shoulders. He wanted to _taste_ him. The frustration made him tense, and he tightened his hand, stroking faster. Malfoy, as if he could sense him, increased his pace. He now moaned louder, his legs opening, his hips squirming, and Harry followed his movements, struggling against the onslaught of his orgasm, until with an _oh, fuck_ Malfoy spilled over his hand. Harry watched him milk out the last drops, and closed his eyes and stifled a gasp as his own orgasm brought him to his knees.

 

oOo

 

Harry breakfasted alone the next morning. He waited for Malfoy for some time before his hunger demanded to be satisfied and he tucked in. Perhaps inventors kept strange hours and Malfoy was still in bed. The mere thought of him lying in rumpled sheets made Harry’s skin heat up. He gulped down his tea to distract himself and burned his throat. Fuck.

When there was no sight of Malfoy even after breakfast, Harry knocked on his bedroom door. No reply came, so he roamed the Manor, trying to find him. Rain poured down the windows, obscuring the view outside. Harry’s steps inevitably led him to the tower.

He wondered if Malfoy was in his lab when footsteps echoed behind the door. Harry dashed to the corner and hid behind a suit of armour. The dark corridors provided excellent cover for someone hiding, which could actually prove dangerous; Harry made a note to talk to Malfoy about it.

Slowly, the rusty hinges screeching, the tower door opened and Danver walked through it, levitating a tray in front of him with a half eaten porridge and a silver tea service. The door locked behind him with a wave of a finger, and the elf disappeared down the corridor.

Harry returned to the tower as if pulled by a magnet and laid his hands on the door. He could feel the magic on it and cast a few diagnostic charms. The complex spell pattern flashed a bright red. ‘I see,’ he murmured. Malfoy had charmed the door with his blood. Only _he_ could unlock it. Disappointed, Harry pocketed his wand, but didn’t leave. He put his ear to the door and tried to listen.

‘Can I help you?’

Harry jumped. The house-elf stood behind him, staring at Harry with an aura of disapproval. Harry swallowed, suppressing a faint feeling of guilt. He wasn’t doing anything _too_  wrong.  ‘I’m looking for Mr Malfoy.’

‘Master is at the graveyard. He starts the day there.’

 

The rain bounced off Harry’s _Impervious_ spell, but the cold made him regret not wearing his coat. As it was, he hunched in on himself and trudged across the grass. The wind carried a metallic scent with it, the threat of a storm. Dead leaves danced around Harry’s feet as he entered the fenced area of the graveyard and headed towards where he knew Malfoy would be.

‘Was looking for you.’ Harry sounded more accusing than he’d intended, when he entered the mausoleum.

‘I come here every morning.’ Malfoy was sitting on a ledge that ran alongside the wall, legs drawn up.

‘We need to have a talk about how this thing works,’ Harry said. ‘The protecting thing.’

‘Talk away.’ Malfoy didn’t even look at him.

‘I’d planned to have this conversation at breakfast, which—’ _seemed a more appropriate place than a mausoleum_. Harry took a deep breath and started again. ‘I need to know your schedule. Where you’re going and when. I have to stay by your side at all times.’

‘Is that all?’

‘I need to make some changes in the Manor. The corridors are too dark — you have to have the torches lit—’

‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘Use those special candles you made.’

Malfoy looked at him then. ‘I haven’t got enough of the substance for torches. I don’t mind the cold, and a _Lumos_ is enough to—’

‘An assassin can hide in the Manor so easily…’

‘But they _won’t_. Potter, get a grip. The wards work. Theo has been playing you. I don’t need protection; save that heroic act for the papers.’

‘I also need to know about every passage in the Manor,’ Harry ploughed through. He tried to sound nonchalant. ‘There must be some, right? Hogwarts had loads.’

Malfoy considered him for a few moments. ‘There are two passages. One is a tunnel under the kitchens, it leads near the village where we met two years ago. Remember?’

Harry remembered. ‘And the other?

‘The other was Lucius the First’s invention. Connects the bedrooms upstairs. You can imagine why he had it built,’ he smiled slyly.

Harry sincerely hoped he wasn’t blushing. ‘Anyone else know about the tunnel under the kitchens?’

‘Just me and Danver, and every Death Eater and presumably their families. Oh, and now you.’

Harry would have to check the entrance to the tunnel later on. If an attacker managed to break through the wards, he’d give Malfoy his Invisibility Cloak — he carried it with him at all times — and they could use the tunnel to flee the Manor. He circled the tombs, pretending to be pacing the room, and examined Lucius’ tomb as best he could. Nothing indicated that something was wrong with it. Harry glanced at Malfoy, but he’d wrapped his arms around his knees and was ignoring him. The circles under his eyes seemed darker today. ‘Do you get any sleep?’

Malfoy glanced at him. ‘Do you?’

‘I do when I’m on a job,’ Harry admitted.

Malfoy smirked. ‘I knew there was a reason you took this job. Besides to spy on the naughty little Death Eater.’ He dropped his legs to the ground and stood. ‘Come. I have some pollen to collect if we’re to make those torches.’

Harry remained looking at the tombs. He hesitated to tell Malfoy of the sounds he’d heard the day before. ‘What did your parents die of?’

Malfoy paused in the doorway, but didn’t turn. ‘No one knows.’

Outside, Malfoy strode across the graveyard where one day he’d be interred himself, his long black coat flapping in the wind. Harry wove his way through the graves when the strong odour of wet, turned soil drew his attention.

The dirt had been disturbed. Some of the graves seemed like they’d been dug in.

‘Did you do this?’ he whispered, his blood cold.

Malfoy turned to see what Harry was pointing at and clenched his fists. ‘Why would I want to dig up rotting corpses?’

‘I don’t know. For—’ _dark purposes_.

Harry’s implied accusation was met with cold fury. ‘Perhaps you suppose I wanted to raise Inferi.’

‘What am I to think of it, then?’

‘Nothing,’ Malfoy snapped. ‘It’s not your job to think of it at all. Your job is to guard me, and you’re doing a piss-poor job at the moment.’

Harry pursed his lips. ‘You’re right. I should turn a blind eye to practices of dark magic.’

Malfoy laughed coldly. ‘I knew hiring you was a mistake. As for the holes, Potter, these look like rabbit holes to me. And because you won’t take my word for it…’ He took out his wand and cast _Animalis Revelio_. Bobs of light floated down the holes and pulled out several rabbits, which, terrified, ran into the woods.

Harry met Malfoy’s triumphant look with a determined one of his own. ‘It’s just that there’s something wrong with the tomb, so—’

Malfoy said, ‘Which tomb?’ as he returned his wand to his pocket, but Harry could tell he was lying. Malfoy knew very well which tomb Harry meant.

‘I think you know. Your father’s. There’s something odd going on.’

Malfoy‘s voice was cutting. ‘Oh, _that_ one? Well, I’m using it for — what was it? — _practices of dark magic_.’ Rage filled his eyes, as well as a hint of something — _fear_. Fear of being discovered.

‘If it’s something innocuous, you can tell me—’

‘There’s _nothing to tell_.’ Malfoy turned his back and strode outside the graveyard. ‘Coming, Potter, or is Nott paying you to guard the unquiet dead?’

With a last look at the mausoleum, Harry followed Malfoy out of the graveyard. They headed east, through unkempt gardens, the leaf-strewn pond, and past an overgrown maze to a greenhouse, as large as Hogwart’s Great Hall. Just before they reached it, Harry noticed a magical border, a shimmering blue line around a plot of bushes and weeds. It wouldn’t keep a wizard out, but was useful against animals, even conjured ones.

‘What are you keeping out?’ he asked, crouching by the border. It buzzed against his fingers.

‘Byron, mainly. I don’t want him eating hemlock and dying on me.’

‘Who’s Byron now?’

Malfoy spoke in clipped tones, still angry with Harry. ‘Our peacock. An annoying pest, but —  well. He’s my father’s and I can’t bear to—’

‘So,’ Harry pointed at the garden, ‘is this—?’

‘Yes. My poison garden. Am I digging myself in deeper now? Are you going to accuse me of murdering my own parents, like the rest of them did? Oh, I heard the lot — they trampled through the house, looking for a shred of evidence to lock me up. Tore my lab apart with their grubby hands and found _nothing_. Not an apology either from the Auror office. But the damage was done. The headlines had convicted me already.’

Harry had heard the rumours. He stood up and approached Malfoy. Rain lashed the ground around them, beating the grass into submission. ‘I don’t think you murdered your parents. Never believed that for a second.’

‘Yet you doubt me at every turn! Mistaking rabbit holes for grave digging and lurking outside the tower — oh, yes, Danver told me — because you think I’m creating something _awful_ —’

‘ _You_ told me it was dangerous!’

‘I also told you, things aren’t black and white, as you seem to regard them. Hemlock,’ he pointed at a white-flowered bush, ‘is a lethal poison. It’s also an antidote to strychnine and an antispasmodic. Ancient Healers used it to relieve the symptoms of spattergroit.’ He shot Harry an icy look. ‘I guess it was too much to expect you to see me as something more than a former Death Eater.’

Malfoy actually sounded hurt. He cast one last look at Harry and entered the greenhouse.

 

oOo

 

Harry had learned about the Malfoy deaths several months after the event, during the Christmas holidays last year. It’d been hard to keep up with the British news in Sakamoto, and so he'd spent Boxing Day at the Burrow, spread on the carpet of the living room with Ron, Hermione and a self-replenishing mug of sweet tea, riffling through a few dozen newspapers.

‘’Twas all very mysterious,’ Ron said, biting on a mince-pie, his fourth of the evening. ‘Very sudden as well.’

Hermione nodded, her dark fingers around a Chudley Cannons mug. ‘Gone in less than a month. Narcissa was seen at the Lammas ball, fit as a fiddle. A month later, dead and buried. It created a big hullaballoo at the Ministry. Some people suspected Malfoy of killing them.’

‘That’s preposterous!’ Harry objected. ‘Why would he kill his parents?’ He unearthed the issue that mentioned the funerals and leafed through it. _A very private service, attended only by the son_ , the article read.

‘See, that’s the other thing, you haven’t heard. A new legislation passed in October, giving the Ministry the right to seize the property of convicted Death Eaters. That’s how Goyle and Nott lost their estates. You remember Nott? Blond, rabbity kid. His father was arrested after the Battle. Life sentence in Azkaban. Soon after the new law passed, the Ministry seized their estate, kicked Nott out.’

‘Harsh,’ Harry commented.

Hermione’s voice took on a severely disapproving tone. ‘The Ministry went too far in that case, if you ask me. Some of us tried to lobby against it, surely seizing a _part_ of the grounds should be enough, but several of the older Wizengamot members were dead set on it.’

Harry picked up another newspaper. Snippets of Christmas songs drifted in from the kitchen along with delicious cooking smells. ‘But what’s that got to do with Malfoy being accused of murder?’

‘See,’ Ron said, helping himself to another mince pie, ‘his parents died _just in time_. When the legislation passed, the owner of the estate was Draco Malfoy, an _exonerated_ Death Eater. If Lucius had been alive, they’d have lost the house.’

‘Lucius didn’t go to Azkaban,’ Harry pointed out.

‘House arrest is still a conviction,’ Hermione said. ‘Wouldn’t stop the Ministry from taking such a prime piece of land. The legislation had been in the works for a couple of months before it passed — a few managed to bestow the estates to their children or spouses in time. The coincidence of the Malfoys dying when they did made matters bad for Draco.’

‘You can’t possibly think he did it.’ Harry had found some newspapers dated early September and browsed through them. The headlines spared no punches: _Suspicious Circumstances Of Death. Malfoy Heir Dismisses Healers — Father Dies A Week Later. Aurors Search Site Of Alleged Matricide And Patricide._

Ron shook his head. ‘Nah. He loved his mum, didn’t he? Proper mummy’s boy, he was. And all that _my father will hear about this_.’ He attempted an approximation of Draco’s posh accent with some success. ‘Nah, it was just an unlucky coincidence. Or lucky, depending on how you see it.’

‘It didn’t help he acted so suspiciously afterwards,’ Hermione said. ‘Blocked access to the Manor, quit his internship, broke up with his boyfriend—’

‘Grief can—’ Ron started, but Harry interrupted him. ‘Malfoy had a boyfriend?’

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. Harry blushed, knowing how it’d sounded. ‘It’s curiosity, ‘sall.’ He leafed through the papers, certain that his friends were exchanging worried glances again. He wished he hadn’t told them, in a vulnerable moment last summer, that no man he’d gone out with had made him feel an _iota_ of what Malfoy managed to elicit in him with just a raised eyebrow and a sneer. Ron had redoubled his matchmaking efforts and it was with great relief that Harry took the contract in Japan.

‘Did you meet anyone in Sakamoto? You were there for a while,’ Hermione asked gently.

‘Couple of one-night stands. Nothing special.’ He shrugged and offered them some positive news to, hopefully, take their mind off Harry’s inability to find a boyfriend. ‘We spent a lot of time in temples. I learned to meditate. It — it helped.’ Each of his jobs gave him back a piece of himself. His first job had taken him to Bolivia, to guard the president’s daughter, and introduced him to a herb that calmed his nerves and stopped the jittering fingers. In Japan, the meditation taught him how to separate his fears from reality. He’d refused to be paid by Mitsuko, and carried her teachings back home with him.

That night, he cast _Lumos_ under the sheets and stared at the page he’d torn out. The photographer had snapped Malfoy as he was leaving his solicitor’s office where he’d signed the official inheritance documents. He looked at the camera with a haughty sneer and lowered the hood of his velvet cloak to hide his face, but the camera had captured the oceans of sorrow in his eyes. He’d interred his parents only two weeks before.

Harry got up quietly and padded to the desk. He wrote a short message: _I’m sorry for your loss. Just found out. HP_. Then he added, stupidly, _You’re in my thoughts_. Then, he added again, _If there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask_. He sent it with Pig when he returned from his hunting.

Pig dropped the reply by his eggs in the morning: _On behalf of Lord Malfoy, we’d like to thank you for your letter. Unfortunately, Lord Malfoy is unable to attend any meetings for the foreseeable future and kindly asks not to be contacted again. Yours sincerely, Dukes and Fibbs, solicitors to the Malfoy Estate_.

Malfoy hadn’t deigned even to reply to him. Harry incinerated the letter in a pique of frustration and penned a new one, accepting a contract that would take him to Namibia.

It was the last time Harry had heard about Malfoy till Nott sat at his table at the Leaky.

 

oOo

 

Harry kicked the grass in a fury, splashing muddy water on his boots. He had no idea how he kept fucking up with Malfoy, how his words kept destroying whatever tried to blossom during the quiet moments they shared. He glowered at the line of birches behind the greenhouse. Unclenching his fists, he took deep, slow breaths from his diaphragm.

The Manor loomed in the distance, forbidding in the deluge. The grounds stretched as far as he could see, and Harry had come to a realisation.

He’d thought that he’d been attracted to Malfoy, because he was dangerous. And Malfoy _was_ dangerous, one hundred per cent.

But not because he was the most secretive person Harry had met and possibly dabbled in dark magic (which, deep down, Harry doubted). Malfoy was dangerous, because of how he made Harry _feel_. After their last ruined meeting, and as soon as his contract with Silva had ended, Harry had crossed an _ocean_ in an effort to put as much distance as possible between him and Malfoy. He’d been too fucked up in those days to consider sharing his fucked-upness with another person, “settling down” as Molly suggested, and the idea he might run into Malfoy at a ball or in Diagon Alley, hanging on the arm of another man, had been unbearable. Harry had no idea why Malfoy of all people set fire to his insides in that way; all he cared about was that he did, and that he longed for more.

A variety of fragrances — fruity, musky, dainty, heady — assaulted him as he entered the humid greenhouse, not quite masking the odours of wet soil and dragon dung. The rain beat a vicious tattoo on the glass roof of the greenhouse as he burrowed deeper into the lush jungle. It was far less organised than the Hogwarts greenhouses, far more wild and chaotic, but, for that reason, inexpressibly beguiling. Lilies were planted next to mandrakes, golden roses side by side with Venomous Tentacula.  Some plants were in cages, pushing at the bars with slithering stalks. Others bloomed in magnificent colours, reds and purples and incandescent oranges. Silvery tear-drop blossoms rang like bells when Harry passed by. Harry wasn’t great shakes at Herbology, but even he was impressed. He prowled deeper into the greenhouse, until he found Malfoy near a stack of wooden shelves. Rows and rows of the black orchids Harry had seen on Narcissa’s grave bloomed in neat copper pots.

Malfoy had removed his coat. The Dark Mark flashed as he rolled up the sleeves of his pale green shirt.

Sweat trickled down Harry’s back. He cleared his throat. ‘I apologise. I’m aware of the rumours and I didn’t mean to stir those memories. It must have been distressing for you.’ Harry looked at Malfoy’s beautiful, sweaty face and continued. ‘I don’t mind if you never show me what you’re,’ _hiding,_ ‘protecting. I wish you’d let me in on your secrets, but I trust that your intentions in creating it were honourable.’ Harry was breathing hard by the end of the speech. Deciding to trust Malfoy — despite overwhelmingly suspicious evidence — had not been an easy thing, but he didn’t doubt his decision.

Malfoy’s eyes blazed in his otherwise still face. ‘Thank you for the apology. Now make yourself useful and grab me that watering can.’

Malfoy bent over the orchids, letting a few drops of water in each pot. ‘These are Flavia’s flowers.’ His tone was light. ‘She and the gardener bred them from two different types of orchids. Flavia was in love with them. Only then she fell in love with the gardener, too.’

‘You make it sound like it was a bad thing.’

Malfoy moved down the row. ‘Terrible, for her father. The gardener was a traveller, a gypsy — pass me the green bottle. Thanks. You can imagine how the Lord of the Manor felt about it. His daughter in love with the _help_. Outrageous.’

‘What happened?’ Harry rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. It was really hot in there.

Malfoy’s gaze flicked to Harry’s neck, then back to the bottle he used to spray some substance on a withered leaf. ‘They arranged to elope, only he never showed up at their meeting point. Vanished, never to be seen again. She assumed he’d abandoned her. Came here and poured poison in the roots of each orchid. Then, clutching one of them, she drank the rest of it. They managed to save one plant. But not Flavia.’

‘Yikes. And then she came back as a ghost?’

‘Yes. My grandfather, Abraxas, had stories to tell. She was pretty awful at first. Made such a fuss at their sister’s wedding to the Notts. My great-grandfather had a fit.’

‘That explains the similarity.’ Harry couldn’t observe Malfoy, not when he stood so close, so he observed the flowers. The black of their velvety petals reminded him of a deep lake at night. It was a colour you could soak your hands in. On the edge of the innermost petal, near the filaments, a splash of pink disrupted the colour, the same shade as Malfoy’s cheeks after their march through the windswept grounds.

‘Indeed. Flavia and her sister, Cassia, looked a lot alike. Cassia is Theo’s grandmother.’

They’d moved to a plant with spiky leaves and yellow, bulbous flowers. The air felt cooler around it. Malfoy crouched on the ground and collected pollen with the tip of his wand, depositing it carefully inside a glass vial. ‘There were rumours then, as well. That her father had the gardener killed. That he was the one who poisoned his daughter. People like to say all manner of things about the Malfoys.’ He looked up. ‘Although, to be honest, I fear the rumours about the gardener were probably true. My grandfather said the man had been quite taken with our little Flavia. He was prepared to run to the end of the world with her.’

A silence swelled as they stared in each other’s eyes before Malfoy turned to his task. ‘This pollen absorbs heat,’ he said, his voice ragged. ‘You can understand, though, how long it’ll take me to make one torch.’ He shook the tiny vial, which wasn’t even one third full.

At the back of his mind, a voice informed Harry that he was failing at his job. He wasn’t meant to keep an eye on Malfoy _literally._ If anyone came into the greenhouse right now, Harry wouldn’t even notice, because all he could see was Malfoy’s face, narrowed in concentration, his forearms shining with sweat, his movements steady and sure.

Malfoy noticed him watching. ‘Like what you see?’ He sounded a mixture between sneering and earnest.

‘You know I do,’ Harry said.

Malfoy looked away. ‘When you’ve had a drink. When you’re _bored_.’

Harry’s heart beat fast. ‘When I’m on a job, I’m on it 24/7. I have no time for me, and that’s the way I preferred it, until—’ He rubbed a hand through his hair, feeling he was doing a bad job explaining. ‘When I said I hadn’t considered a date, I didn’t mean with _you_ — I meant not with anyone.’ He went closer to Malfoy. ‘You have no idea how _terrified_ you make me. You’re the only one who makes want to abandon my duties, my job, _everything_ — just for the sake of one more kiss.’

Harry finished his little speech, his hands trembling. Malfoy was still looking away, but his face was flushed and his eyes were fierce. He said nothing for a long moment. When he stood, he rubbed his palms on his trousers and returned to the orchids, where he snipped one flower.

‘Here, have this.’ He threaded the flower through Harry’s buttonhole, his face serious and intense, as if this was an exam he had to pass and not the simple act of putting an orchid in Harry’s shirt. ‘It suits you.’

‘It smells nice,’ Harry said, his throat dry.

‘They smell better after dark,’ Malfoy said. ‘Perhaps I’ll bring you here one of these nights.’

Malfoy finished with the buttonhole and left his fingers lightly on Harry’s chest, where Harry’s heart was making quite a racket. It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the greenhouse, constricting Harry’s lungs. He gazed at Malfoy, who looked back with luminous eyes, demanding and offering at the same time. Harry leaned in and—

—a wail made both of them jump apart. Flavia glided in, ghostly petals streaming by her feet, puffy robes trailing behind her. ‘You cut one of my babies!’ She made to grasp the flower, but her hand went through the stem and she wailed again.

‘I’ll cut all of them if you carry on like this,’ Malfoy hissed. He grabbed Harry’s arm and said, ‘Come with me?’

It wasn’t really a question. They almost flew across the grounds, Malfoy holding his hand tight. Harry’s heart was pounding while they climbed the stairs and he didn’t dare hope— But yes, Malfoy led him to his bedroom and shoved Harry in.

‘At least we’ll have some privacy here,’ he said and pounced.

Everything was a daze after that — a dream, a breathless frenzy. A tangle of hands ripping shirts, unbuckling belts, gripping each other as they moved blindly through the room and fell on the bed, kissing messily and smiling at each other in between kisses, both of them delirious and frantic with lust. Whatever remained of Harry’s brain focused on one sole task: memorizing every inch of Malfoy’s body. He stroked his skin and tasted every part of the body that’d been hidden from him. Harry kissed Malfoy’s chest and bit his back; he touched every part of Malfoy he could reach: his knees, his feet, his finger tips, the backs of his thighs. Ravenous, he looked at Malfoy as an exquisite meal, laid on the silk sheets for his enjoyment alone. Malfoy laughed as Harry kissed him in the oddest places, his elbows and calves and nose, and he gazed at Harry with such a fierce longing that Harry melted in his arms and kissed him over and over again.

‘I’m failing at my job and it’s your fault,’ Harry said, biting the insides of Malfoy’s thighs.

‘‘Good thing there isn’t a real threat—’ Malfoy gasped, when Harry sucked on the tip of his cock and swirled his tongue around the head. ‘Oh, dear Salazar, _yes_ …’

Harry repeated the swirling motion. He teased Malfoy by pretending to take him in, then pulling away, then licking his shaft in one firm stroke and on and on, until Malfoy was whimpering, writhing under Harry, and calling him _you_ _Gryffindor bastard_. Harry finally sucked him all in, one hand pressing Malfoy’s squirming hips down, the other slipping to the cleft of his arse.

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ Malfoy gasped, his hands clenching the sheets. ‘I can’t — I’m too —’

Malfoy gazed at him with lust-blown eyes, his face pink and stupidly beautiful, and Harry’s arousal cannonballed through his system. With a grunt, he squeezed Malfoy’s arse and hollowed his cheeks, sucking faster, his eyes never leaving Malfoy’s until Malfoy yelped and came in Harry’s mouth, his body arching off the bed. ‘You _gorgeous_ Gryffindor bastard…’ he mumbled, as he rode out the last throes of his orgasm in Harry’s mouth.

Malfoy’s cock slid with a pop from his lips and Harry, drunk on Malfoy’s taste, hornier than he’d ever been, ran his fingers across Malfoy’s opening. ‘Can I?’ he pleaded.

‘You’d better, Potter.’ Malfoy shifted and lay on his front, spreading his legs and offering a sight to Harry that almost made him come on the spot. He laid his hands on the round globes of Malfoy’s arse and caressed his hot skin, trailing fingers inside his cleft.

Spreading the cheeks, Harry licked the hot, musky valley. ‘I’ve wanted to taste you for so long,’ he said, his voice hoarse.

‘Yet you seem to be taking your time,’ Malfoy rasped.

Harry pinched his arse. ‘Impatient ponce. I’ve half a mind to leave.’ But he couldn’t wait longer either, his self-control hanging by a thread. Casting a quick cleansing spell, Harry buried his face in Malfoy’s arse and lapped at his entrance with swift, eager strokes.

‘Don’t you _dare_ — _oh_ , _fuck,_ ’ Malfoy moaned. Harry thrust his tongue inside Malfoy’s arse, short, fast jabs followed by messy swirls. Malfoy bucked his hips in supplication. Chin dripping with saliva and out of breath, Harry slipped a finger inside Malfoy along with his tongue, coaxing desperate, pleading sounds from him. He could have gone on forever, but his aching, leaking cock demanded a taste of Malfoy, too.

Harry pulled back, ignoring Malfoy’s angry _Potter!_ A fast lubrication spell had his cock dripping with lube. He pressed the head against Malfoy’s arse, a hand tight at the base of his cock to prevent himself from coming too soon. Malfoy lay under him, naked and pliant, and Harry felt as if he stood on a precipice. He had no idea how he could go back to the life of travelling from job to job, contract to contract. Everything he’d thought he couldn’t live without crumbled under his feet, and he was falling.

With a slow, firm shove, he pushed himself inside Malfoy, eyes closing as fire ran through his veins. He breached him slowly, inch by inch, draped over Malfoy’s back and kissing his neck. Malfoy moaned and asked for more, and Harry obliged him, pistoning his hips faster, any shred of control gone. He interlocked his hand with Malfoy’s and bent over his shoulder, kissing his cheek and murmuring embarrassing things in his ear as he thrust deeper, panting, dripping with sweat. He couldn’t hold back, not another second, and with a last furious stroke, he came inside Malfoy’s tight, hot arse.  

Harry clung to Malfoy when they lay in bed afterwards, unwilling to let go of him ever again. His brain had unfogged a little, enough to let concerns in. If the assassin walked through the door now, Harry would have a hard time finding his wand in the pile of ripped clothing on the floor, and he had no clue where his glasses might have ended up. Some bodyguard he was.

Also, something troubled him.

‘Nott’s paying a lot of money,’ he told Malfoy, ‘if this isn’t a real threat as you claim. I thought he’d lost his house. Where does he get the dough?’

Malfoy shifted in Harry’s arms and pressed his cheek against Harry’s chest. ‘He still has access to the family vault. Although, yes, losing the estate was a blow. He railed so much about it. Had a go at me when I told him I couldn’t host him. I’d gladly do it now, but after my … parents were gone, I just couldn’t bear living with another soul. Thank the heavens for Danver; he’s extremely loyal and looked after me well.’

He and Malfoy had both been so alone for such a long time, Harry thought, caressing Malfoy’s hair. Voldemort had died, but they were still fighting him. Perhaps it’d be easier if they fought him together. Harry pressed a kiss on Malfoy’s head. Outside, the rain lashed at the windows, but under the covers it was warm and safe.

 _Safe_. All Harry’s questions about this job circled in his mind, like bats in a cave, looking for an exit. Harry trusted his instinct and it screamed that something wasn’t right. ‘Do you know who the buyer is?’

‘A Dr Jaykell. Works with mental illnesses. Look,’ Malfoy raised his head, ‘I know the device can be used for sinister purposes. But I’m not an idiot, Potter, and I didn’t rely only on Theo’s assurances. I’m aware of his tendency to associate with shady characters. I’ve had Dr Jaykell checked out. Apparently, he’s a renowned, if somewhat unorthodox, psychealer and his articles in the medical journals are fascinating.’ He leaned over Harry, smiling slyly. ‘Must we talk about this now? I want,’ he trailed a hand to Harry’s sticky groin, ‘to feel this beauty inside me again.’ Harry’s cock woke up under Malfoy’s touch and he pulled Malfoy to kiss him.

‘I just _knew_ you were a fairy, Abraxas,’ a familiar voice said.

‘What the—’ Harry scrambled to cover himself with the sheet.

‘How long have you been there?’ Malfoy hissed at his dead relative, who perched on a mahogany chest of drawers and ran her fingers through Malfoy’s cufflinks.

‘A while. What _you_ did,’ Flavia told Harry, ‘was _quite_ unhygienic, if you ask me. But, somehow, very … stirring.’ Her gaze drifted for a moment before it returned to Malfoy. ‘That boy came back,’ she informed him. ‘Through the Floo. Looking for you.’

‘Which boy?’

‘The one who’ll marry Cassia; the only one who visits. He asked me about you and I told him everything! How you were in bed with another _man_! Serves you right for cutting my flowers.’

Malfoy snorted. He lay back against the headboard. ‘I bet Theo wasn’t surprised by that piece of news.’

She frowned. ‘No, he wasn’t. I know!’ She grinned wickedly. ‘I’ll go tell _Father_!’

‘Go and tell him,’ Malfoy yawned. ‘He won’t be surprised either.’

‘Who is she talking about?’ Harry asked.

Malfoy watched Flavia retreat through the wall. ‘The portrait. First floor gallery in the east wing. I’m rather hungry, are you? Let’s have some food.’

Before Harry could wonder about this abrupt change of topic, the house-elf materialised next to the bed. He didn’t blink an eye at his master’s nudity.

‘Sandwiches, please,’ Malfoy said. ‘We’ll have luncheon here.’

‘As you wish. My lord, your cousin came to visit an hour ago.’

‘Yes, I was informed.’

‘He brought a bottle of honeybrandy and said it was for you to celebrate. The closing of the deal is tomorrow.’

‘Fabulous,’ Malfoy said.

The house-elf vanished with a pop.

Malfoy played with the edge of the sheet, looking at his hands. ‘Your contract ends tomorrow, I suppose. Once the plans for the device are out of my hands, I won’t be the only one who can make it.’

‘But you might still be in danger,’ Harry reasoned.

Malfoy shook his head, still looking down. ‘Theo hired you so he could close the deal. The deal is, apparently, done. You can leave tomorrow, if you want. Take a job in, I don’t know, _Nepal_. See the world.’

Malfoy sounded envious. Harry wanted to tell him that travelling wasn’t as fun as it sounded when you were carrying all your emotional baggage with you. He looked at Malfoy’s profile, his sweaty hair falling in his eyes, and said, ‘That’s not how this will go.’

‘Oh?’

Harry cupped Malfoy’s chin and turned his head towards him. ‘What will happen is this. You’ll drag me to a poncy restaurant one evening soon, and I’ll complain about the number of forks and the size of the portions. Then I’ll drag you to my local and you’ll complain about the wine list and the clientele. This will be a recurring theme. But every time, every single time, we’ll end up in my bed — or yours — and I’ll make you forget your own name.’

A slow smile spread over Malfoy’s face, but a cold hand squeezed Harry’s heart: what if he found life in Britain unbearable like before? What if his shaking and cold sweats came back? But he forced himself to focus on Malfoy’s joyful expression and hoped his own didn’t betray his fears. He’d fight, if he had to. He’d even see that Dr Jaykell if that’s what it took for Harry to know what it’d be like to date Malfoy.

A mountain of sandwiches appeared on the desk, and Malfoy grinned crookedly. ‘I know I said I’m starving, but I could wait for, say, twenty minutes.’

Harry glanced at Malfoy’s erection and licked his lips. His own cock was hardening fast. ‘Make it thirty.’

 

oOo

 

Harry lost count how many times they shagged, propelled by an irrepressible need for each other, for lips on skin and soft caresses. They fucked on Malfoy’s desk after lunch, the silver tray falling down, spilling crumbs on the carpet. They fucked in the shower, water from groaning pipes sluicing down Harry’s back as Malfoy bent him over and _destroyed_ him. They fucked in bed, slow and sweet, on sweaty sheets. Exhausted and sated, they napped for an hour and woke up to a storm raging in the early evening.

‘I don’t want to leave the bed,’ Malfoy said, burrowing in the covers as a thunderclap shook the windows. ‘Let’s stay here.’

The rumbling of Harry’s stomach objected. ‘And let Danver’s cooking go to waste? That’d be a shame.’

‘Spoilsport,’ Malfoy grumbled, but he got up. Harry watched his long legs disappear inside well-cut trousers. Malfoy looked at Harry in the mirror, arching an eyebrow. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’

‘Very much,’ Harry grinned. He leaned against the headboard, arms crossed behind his head, and watched as Malfoy, with an endearing blush, put on a white crisp shirt, a long velvet jacket, and chose a cravat the colour of summer skies.

They’d retrieved Harry’s glasses and their wands at some point — to cast a spell which Malfoy said might keep Flavia out of the bedroom — but the rest of their clothing remained scattered on the floor, the Invisibility Cloak draped over a footstool. Malfoy pushed Harry’s shirt and muddy jeans with his toe. ‘You can’t wear these. This is a celebratory night. Let me dress you.’

Harry didn’t point out that he had fresh clothes in his room. He let Malfoy choose something for him, stealing kisses while Malfoy was buttoning up Harry’s shirt or helping him with the jacket. He’d chosen a dark grey suit for Harry, the most old-fashioned thing Harry had ever worn, paired with an emerald shirt, and one accessory: the slightly trampled orchid. Malfoy stood behind him, with an arm around his waist and his chin on Harry’s shoulder, and they stared at their reflection in the mirror.

Malfoy smiled and kissed Harry’s temple. ‘You look decent, for once. Let’s have dinner.’

Dinner was thyme-flavoured lamb, mashed potatoes, greens tossed with mint and lime, a glass of Pinot Noir for Malfoy and water for Harry. Harry ate with relish, telling Malfoy about his travels, and occasionally rubbing his foot against Malfoy’s calf under the table. A low fire kept the room dim — Harry had discovered that Malfoy relied on warming charms to keep the cold at bay — but Harry had got used to the quavering shadows of the Manor. The storm raged outside, making Harry feel like he and Malfoy were the only people in the world. Harry allowed himself to relax; to forget his worries; to look to the future. His job ended tomorrow and he could date Malfoy properly, the way Harry wanted and the way Malfoy deserved.

After dinner, they moved to the sofa and Malfoy studied the honeybrandy. ‘An excellent reserve. Want some?’

‘Am still on the job,’ Harry reminded him.

Malfoy smirked. ‘I didn’t realise your duties included blowjobs and rimming. If I’d known, I’d have hired you as a bodyguard _years_ ago.’

‘I was hoping for a good reference.’

Malfoy grinned and sipped his brandy, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face. ‘I think we’ll go to _Alain Ducasse_ on Friday night. It’s a fabulous restaurant. You’ll hate it.’

‘Can’t wait,’ Harry deadpanned.

Malfoy beamed at Harry, his eyes bright, and emptied the glass. He went to set it on the coffee table, but missed. It bounced off the thick carpet and rolled near Harry’s feet. ‘How did that—,’ Malfoy mumbled.

Harry bent to pick up the glass. Thunder rattled the tall windows and a flash of lightning illuminated Danver, standing silent behind Malfoy. Harry’s hand went immediately to his wand.

‘Master?’ The house-elf faced Malfoy.

‘Yes, Vand— Vander? Dander?’

‘Danver.’ Harry looked at Malfoy with alarm. He was slurring, but he’d only had one drink.

‘My lord,’ the house-elf said, ‘the Floo has been blocked.’

The peace Harry had been feeling shattered, revealing itself as an illusion. Mind clear and alert, he jumped to his feet, wand out, and cast a _Homenum Revelio._ The spell revealed the presence of several other people inside the property. The assassin had sent a whole fucking _team_. Casting a quick succession of spells, Harry blanched as worse news was revealed: the wards had been tampered with, forbidding magical entry and exit to anyone. No Apparition, no Patronus.

They were trapped.

‘Come,’ he pulled up Malfoy, who staggered and fell in his arms with a leer.

‘Hello, sailor,’ Malfoy slurred and tried to kiss Harry, but he miscalculated and his lips landed on Harry’s shoulder.

Leading a staggering Malfoy out of the room, Harry turned to the house-elf. ‘What about the tunnel under the kitchens? Is it blocked, too?’

The elf bowed. ‘I’ll check, sir.’

Harry thought fast, his mind running through several scenarios. In the end, he decided to retrieve his Cloak from Malfoy’s bedroom, but Malfoy’s intoxication hindered their progress; if it _was_ intoxication and not a poison. Harry checked for shortness of breath and throat swelling, but Malfoy seemed in great health, albeit uncoordinated and horny. Harry Silenced their footsteps, Disillusioned them both, and berated himself for his stupidity. If anything happened to Malfoy, it’d be his fault, and he would never forgive himself.

They’d reached the staircase to the upper floors with no problems and Harry had put one foot on the first step when a lightning illuminated the landing — along with the silhouette of a cloaked figure walking down the stairs in their direction. Freezing on the spot, Harry considered his options. Stunning his attacker would reveal their position, if someone else was around. The Disillusionment held for now; but Malfoy kept muttering and they’d be discovered anyway.

The appearance of Danver decided things. Apparently able to see through their disguise, the house-elf bowed to Harry and started to speak before he noticed the intruder, and stopped. By then it was too late; he’d given their position away. A raspy female voice cast a spell in the direction the elf had bowed to; it stripped their Disillusionment away, revealing Harry and Malfoy mere steps away from her. A hint of recognition; a malicious grin — but a non-verbal _Stupefy_ by Harry halted her before she could swish her wand again. She rolled down the steps, unconscious.

‘Oops!’ Malfoy laughed.

Harry Bound her and stuffed her in a corner, while Danver informed him that the tunnel had collapsed. Harry had been expecting that. He climbed the stairs slowly, one arm holding Malfoy upright.

 ‘Can _you_ take him out of here?’ he asked, but Danver shook his head.

‘I can pass the wards. But, a year ago, Master asked me never to leave the residence. I won’t disobey a direct order.’

‘Malfoy,’ Harry turned to him, ‘ _Draco,_ please ask your elf to get you out of here.’ Harry shook him, but it was like Malfoy had no bones in his body. He slid fluidly to the floor and grinned at Harry with dark eyes, pupils unnaturally dilated.

‘I’m not going anywhere, except to bed with you.’ He clung to Harry’s knees.

Harry dragged him back up. ‘Danver,’ he said to the elf, ‘if you value your master’s life, you’ll disobey his order and go get help. Find Ronald Weasley. He’s an Auror. If you can’t leave, then — then find a place to hide.’

The house-elf nodded, his eyes lingering on his master. With a bow, he Disapparated, but to where, Harry couldn’t know.

He reached Malfoy’s room with no other encounters. After checking the bedroom, he dragged Malfoy inside and grabbed the Invisibility Cloak. ‘Here, put this on,’ he whispered. He wrapped it around Malfoy and lowered the hood.

It didn’t help much, as Malfoy would not stand still or keep quiet. He staggered towards Harry, making lewd comments, only he was slurring so badly that half of it was gibberish. Harry had no idea what the brandy had been spiked with, and he could only hope it wouldn’t last long.

‘How do we enter the secret passage from your room?’ he asked, pulling the legs of the centaurs on the mantelpiece to no avail. He turned back to Malfoy, and sighed.

Malfoy had taken one shoe off, given up on the other, and stretched across his bed in what he probably thought was a provocative position. The hood covered his face, but the Cloak had fallen open, making him look like a headless body. A headless body which rubbed its groin and moaned. ‘Come to bed, babe, want you to fuck me seslness— senless— senselessel—’

‘Draco.’ Harry grabbed his shoulders. ‘I _want_ to fuck you senseless. But… in the passage. The secret one. It’s, um… kinky. Can you show me how to get in?’

Malfoy stood — Harry righted him — and staggered to the bookcase. He grabbed a green tome from the second shelf and pulled it down, revealing the passage.

‘Great, get in.’ Harry Summoned Malfoy’s shoe before he shut the panel behind them.

It was pitch dark, quiet but for the scratching mice. Harry paused, trying to determine which way to go, but Malfoy pressed him to the wall. ‘Hello, sexy.’ He tried to kiss Harry and rub against him at the same time, which proved too much for Malfoy; he swayed and almost fell.

Harry wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. ‘I’ll kill Nott for incapacitating you like this. For sending assassins to kill you. He knew he didn’t have a chance against you otherwise.’

It couldn’t have been anyone else. For a few moments, Harry hugged Malfoy, smelling his hair and feeling his heartbeat against his own. He wondered how Malfoy would feel when he sobered up and discovered that his own cousin had planned to murder him. Merlin only knew how much money Nott stood to make from the sale. Harry gave a kiss to Malfoy’s hair. ‘Come now. Put your shoe on.’

They made slow progress down the passage. Malfoy complained about the lack of shagging — loudly despite Harry’s shushing — and once tripped Harry up so he could fall on top of him on the dirty floor. Harry considered Stunning him and leaving him in the passage under the Cloak, but he couldn’t take the risk that Nott would come in and stumble on an unconscious Malfoy. He considered it unlikely that Nott knew about the passage, though; Death Eaters needed to know about an escape tunnel, but not so much about a passage created for peeping or illicit visits to other bedrooms. He hoped the Malfoys had kept that secret safe.

The end of the passage loomed ahead. It was a dead end.

Panicking, Harry looked around, just as a flash of yellow light revealed two eyeholes not far off. Harry peered through them.

Someone stood in the middle of a cold, dark room. Lightning revealed him to be a thin man with a goatee who was casting spells, yellow light flashing under the bed and from inside the wardrobe. _Seeking spells._ They flashed green when they found their target. Before Harry could take Malfoy away, the spell directed at the wall they stood behind bounced, and green light returned to the wizard.

‘Move!’ Harry whispered, pushing Malfoy ahead of him, but he heard the spell the man cast next: _Homenum Revelio_. A familiar swooping sensation floated over Harry, and Malfoy giggled.

Shit.

They had barely made it a few feet away when a bang erupted, brick and dust raining on them, the sound reverberating through the passage. A face peered through the hole, as Harry coughed and tried to get a prone Malfoy to stand. The hood of the Cloak had fallen back, revealing Malfoy’s head.

The man smiled and put one leg through the hole in the wall.

 

oOo

 

Harry had fought several attackers on the job, not to mention the Death Eaters during the war, but never in such closed quarters and never with a drugged person, who thought it a good idea to wrap an arm around his shoulder and lick his ear while Harry was trying to aim Stunners at the man climbing through the wall.

‘ _Expelliarmus_!’ he cried, but the man had already cast a Shield. He pulled himself through the hole and Harry cast a _Reducto_ , blowing up parts of the wall above them, which rained on the man’s face. That halted him, but it wouldn’t be for long. Harry retreated to the end of the passage, cold wall behind his back, and nowhere to go.

‘Malfoy, _stop_ this.’ He swatted at Malfoy’s wandering hands. ‘He’ll kill us both if you don’t quit it.’

In his daze, Malfoy’s eyes widened. ‘He’ll kill you? That man?’ He whipped out his wand and pointed it at the attacker, who was coughing, half-visible as the dust was settling down. Harry pulled Malfoy back.

‘You can’t cast spells now, you can’t even _speak_ ,’ he said, but Malfoy elbowed him and brandished his wand.

‘Arg— Avar—’

Harry stared, horrified, and then Malfoy cried, ‘ _Aguamenti_!’

‘What the f—’ Harry almost rolled his eyes, but it was lucky he didn't, because he’d have missed the immense jet of water that came out of Malfoy’s wand and hit the man square in the face. Harry stared in utter disbelief as Malfoy advanced, a veritable _torrent_ issuing from his wand. Such spells could never pierce Shields, not normally, but—

Harry couldn’t linger on it; he had other things to worry about. He cast a _Stupefy_ , followed by an _Incarcerous,_ at the man.

Malfoy replaced his wand in his pocket and laughed at the drenched, unconscious figure. He then turned to Harry and slammed him against the wall. ‘ _No one_ will hurt you, I promise I won’t let them, now kiss me…’

Harry didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. He gave a peck on Malfoy’s lips and drew his attention to the dead-end. ‘I need you to tell me how to get out of this passage.’

‘But you said—’

‘Draco!’ Harry squeezed his arm in desperation. That blast and that hole wouldn’t go unnoticed, and, for once, Malfoy obeyed him.

‘Brute,’ he pouted and ran his finger along a scuff on the wall that Harry would never have spotted. The stone wall slid open. After checking both ways, Harry and Malfoy stepped into the corridor and the wall slammed shut.

They were in the west wing, not far from the tower. _Of course_ , the tower was the only place he could hide Malfoy.

Harry kept his arm on Malfoy’s forearm to steady him as he checked every shadow in the dark corridor. Statues and suits of armours stood between the rain-slicked windows. The portraits tittered and aimed questions at them about the blast they’d heard, but Harry ignored them.

‘He won’t sleep with me,’ Malfoy complained to one of the portraits, who glared at Harry for his impudence.

Harry strained his ears to hear for any approaching footsteps. He cursed himself for not paying attention earlier —  he couldn’t remember if his spell had revealed four or five attackers. Two were out of action and he hoped he wouldn't run into any more. It _was_ a big house, after all.

They had almost reached the landing when a third figure stepped from behind a suit of armour and cast an _Avada Kedavra_ towards Malfoy’s head, which bobbed in the air over his Cloaked body.

 

Time slowed down as Harry watched the bright green jet of light rush through the lightning-bright corridor towards Malfoy. He roared — it must have been him who made that noise — and shoved Malfoy to the ground, covering him with his body. The spell swooshed bare inches over Harry’s head and crashed into a window, shards of glass exploding over them. Heart pounding, Harry swirled on the ground, pointed his wand at the figure, but his spell missed them and Harry couldn’t see them. He’d fucking _told_ Malfoy about these dark corridors!

Harry pulled them both behind a statue and peeked around it. A Stunner just missed him. He cast a Disarming spell towards where he thought the attacker was, the person dodged, and the duel started in earnest, a barrage of spells bouncing against the stone walls. Windows smashed, rain blew hard inside, the Malfoy ancestors shrieked and fled their portraits, and Harry, desperate and furious, slid his hands under Malfoy’s suit and took his wand.

At Malfoy’s curious look, he said, ‘I’ll give it back.’

 _Deep breath._ Stepping out from behind the statue during a lull in the duel, Harry Shielded himself and marched down the corridor, casting with both wands, a hurricane of spells, attacking and deflecting, until the intruder, struggling against the onslaught from the double-wielding Harry, turned tail and fled.

Breathing hard, Harry grabbed Malfoy and led him to the tower door. The grey suit Malfoy had lent him was filthy, the shirt stuck to his back, the orchid long gone. Harry wiped his sweaty hair off of his forehead. ‘Draco.’ He assumed what he hoped was his sexy voice. ‘Open the tower door, please. It’s um… the one place no one will interrupt our er… lovemaking.’

‘On the contrary,’ Malfoy said.

‘I will only kiss you in there,’ Harry threatened. ‘Unlock the door!’

Malfoy did. They were in.

Up several flights of stone steps and they entered a circular room with a high ceiling lost in the shadows. Malfoy’s violet-flamed candles flickered in the draught from four large windows, and cast soft light on brass scales, a small cauldron, a bunch of Omnioculars, and a set of glass tubes and beakers, full of bubbling liquid that hissed and steamed up the windows, filling the room with the smells of seaweed and sulphur. A jumble of vials and jars covered the shelves in the back wall, next to a narrow door. A tank in the far corner housed three octopi, which floated in a transparent, glittering liquid.

Harry leaned on the nearest table, breathing hard. Malfoy approached him from behind, removed the Cloak, and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. Harry let him, taking comfort in his warm body, relieved that they’d made it alive to the one room that only Malfoy could unlock. His pulse returned to normal as he took in the array of potions on one shelf, the dried herbs in a basket by their feet, the broken spare parts in another. Harry saw nothing that indicated that Malfoy had created something Dark; nothing that would inspire such secrecy in Malfoy.

A creak. A squeak of wheels. And a voice.

‘What in Salazar’s name are _you_ doing here?’

The voice chilled Harry to the bone, mainly because he _knew_ it. Turning slowly, he stared at the figure in the wheelchair. It was Lucius Malfoy.

 

oOo

 

Lucius Malfoy glowered at Harry from the doorway of a small room. Behind him, a cot and a dresser were visible through the ajar door. Harry gaped, opening and closing his mouth as he attempted to form words, but none came. He stared wildly around the lab, as if someone might swoop in and explain to him what was happening. Images galloped through his brain, puzzle pieces falling into place: the half-eaten porridge, the flower-less tomb, Flavia talking to “Father”.

Lucius wheeled closer. ‘What’s wrong with my son?’ he demanded.

Only then did it register to Harry that Malfoy was clinging to him, grinding slowly against Harry’s thigh, and letting out tiny, soft moans.

‘Potter, you remember my father,’ he said and nuzzled Harry’s neck. ‘Father, we’re busy, can you come back later?’

Harry, cheeks burning, smiled awkwardly at Lucius and guided Malfoy to a chair. ‘Shut up and stay put,’ he told him, but Malfoy made to hug him, so Harry Bound his wrists to the chair, slanting a glance at Lucius in case he pointed a wand at Harry for tying up his son.

‘ _Kinky_.’ Malfoy leered at Harry and licked his lips. ‘Merlin, I so want your—’

Harry Stunned him.

‘How _dare_ you—’ Lucius spluttered and wheeled near his son.

‘He’s been drugged,’ Harry told him. ‘And _you_ — you’re alive.’

‘Yes, Potter, it is I and I’m alive, but _you_ won’t be for long unless you tell me what happened to Draco and what all that racket was.’ Lucius touched Draco’s forehead and felt his pulse. He looked as if he’d aged ten years since Harry’d seen him at the trials, his hair liberally shot with white and his face lined. White stubble covered hollow cheeks under eyes that retained their intelligent cruelty. Skinny wrists protruded from plain grey robes and he wore slippers. A thin, silver circlet rested on his head, which flashed white-blue at irregular intervals.

Harry sat on a chair and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to voice his suspicions about Nott to his relative, not without evidence, for fear of antagonising Lucius. ‘Someone wants to kill your son for some stupid invention, and they spiked his drink and brought assassins into the house. Draco’s been like this all night—’

‘What are the symptoms?’ Lucius interrupted.

‘He became _very_ drunk almost instantly. Loss of coordination, slurred speech, dilated pupils. And, also, um… very aroused, ’ Harry said, finding a coil of wiring particularly interesting to look at.

‘Most likely a version of _Mania_ ,’ Lucius said. ‘It’s an accelerant,’ he explained to Harry. ‘Takes whatever you feel and magnifies it by a hundred. In large doses, lethal. But this seems to be one of the cheap versions.’

Harry remembered hearing about _Mania_ during Auror Training. It was a singularly complicated potion to make, but easily adapted to milder alternatives. He’d never come across it, though. Frequently sold on the black market as a stimulant, the potion was readily available, but an unlikely choice for stalkers and assassins — the people Harry dealt with in his job. The effects on the drinker were unpredictable, to say the least.

‘Does it affect magic?’ Harry asked.

Lucius had wheeled to the shelves and was rummaging through some vials. ‘Hm?’

‘Would the _Mania_ make your spell-casting stronger?’

‘Yes,’ Lucius replied absently, as he poured a viscous liquid into the cauldron and added lacewing flies and a sliver of ginger. ‘But only if there was an emotion driving the casting. A simple charm to tie your shoelaces would be unaffected.’

 _But a spell to protect a loved one would acquire such force as to shatter a powerful Protego_. Harry’s heart clenched as he gazed at Malfoy, his face serene against the chair, as if he were sleeping. A drop of drool had gathered in the corner of his mouth, making Harry smile with fondness. Seeing the Killing Curse directed at Malfoy had shaken him; Harry wanted to hold him and keep holding him until the danger passed, as if the only safe space for Malfoy was in Harry’s arms. Harry slanted a glance at Lucius, who’d been watching Harry from the corner of his eye.

Harry had many questions for Malfoy Senior. He’d never expected to see grand old Lucius locked in a tower, wearing _slippers_ , but he could tell he’d been gravely ill. Standing up, Harry peered inside the cauldron. A cyan liquid bubbled, steam rising in tight curls. Lucius was stirring three times clockwise, one time counterclockwise.

‘So what’s the invention?’ Harry asked.

Lucius considered him. He passed Harry a horned slug. ‘Chop it neatly. It’s a good thing that a variant of the Calming Draught can counteract the effects of _Mania_.’ He continued stirring, while Harry took the knife and started cutting the slug into thin slices. ‘The invention is this _decoder._ ’ Lucius touched the circlet on his head. ‘It’s a brilliant medical marvel, and a terrifying weapon in the wrong hands. Draco will be in danger as long as he lives, because of this. Every dictator wanting to start a coup will want to get their hands on it.’

Harry passed him the pieces of the slug. ‘But what does a _decoder_ do?’ Such an unassuming thing, it was. It flashed faster now, as if moved by Lucius’ agitation.

Lucius added the slugs to the potion, which turned a clear orange. ‘On my head, it makes me… well, I guess the word is “sane”. My illness, Potter — although the Healers couldn’t agree if it was a disease or a curse — left me feeble, bedridden and severely demented. A decrepit husk of a man, garbling nonsense and drooling into his pillow. I didn’t know my son, I didn’t know the names of things, I could barely form words. Draco had no choice but to fake my death — how could he care for me if we’d lost the house? He cut all ties and nursed me to health — and in the process, invented this decoder, which unscrambles my tangled thoughts and shapes them into coherency. A miraculous thing.’

It _was_ miraculous. But Harry didn’t see the negative side. ‘And on my head, what would this thing do?’

There was something of the old Lucius in the way he smiled now. ‘On your head, Potter, it would make you my _puppet_. A simple spell to activate it and you’d be under the strongest _Imperius_ you’ve ever experienced.’

‘I can throw off _Imperius_ ,’ Harry said. ‘And I don’t see why someone would kill for this device when they can cast an Unforgivable.’

Lucius tipped the potion into a small bottle containing a red, spiky leaf. ‘Imagine if you will, _hundreds_ of decoders, hidden inside hats. Hats you sell to the Ministry, to the Aurors — or to Hogwarts. Eleven-year-old children you can command to go home and murder their parents in their beds; an army you can control with one single swish of your wand.’

Harry’s blood ran cold through his veins. Lucius continued. ‘Not even the Dark Lord could control ten Imperiused people at once, let alone a hundred. And you’re wrong about shaking off the influence. The control is absolute. It reaches somewhere deeper than magic can.’

Harry imagined Voldemort having access to this device; he imagined Snape wearing it, or Narcissa in the forest; he imagined Voldemort forcing it on Harry’s head. ‘Draco can _never_ sell this device.’

‘At last, we agree on something. I knew it’d bring Draco trouble, but he chose to listen to Theodore, no doubt because he was the only one who made an effort to spend time with my son. Merlin knows who Theodore blabbed to. I didn’t like the sound of that Dr Jaykell or his silent partner, Mr H.’

Downstairs, the door’s rusty hinges squealed.

‘Ah, Danver!’ Lucius called. ‘I’ve been calling you for ages.’

Danver didn’t reply. Footsteps echoed from the staircase, climbing up.

Harry felt a shiver run through him. ‘No one can enter this tower. Draco charmed it with his blood.’

Lucius’s fists clenched the arms of his wheelchair as his face showed that he’d come to the same realisation Harry had arrived at an hour ago. ‘No one, except for a _blood relative_.’

Harry picked up both his and Draco’s wands and made to run to the stairs, but Lucius called him back. ‘There’s a way out. Draco had it built for me when I had to hide from the Aurors who searched the property.’ He cast a spell which lifted a rug, revealing a hatch under it. ‘It will take you out of the house to the grounds. You can escape undetected through the woods.’

‘I can fight Nott,’ Harry insisted.

‘Draco _can’t._ This potion needs to stew before he can drink it. And me — I’m afraid my fighting days are over.’

Harry _could_ fight Nott. Incandescent fury coursed through his veins and he wanted to face Nott and make him pay. But he’d done this job long enough to know that letting rage cloud your judgment was a grave mistake. If the worst happened, he’d leave Draco prey to his cousin, unconscious and essentially unprotected.

His first priority was to take Malfoy to safety, not to fight his attacker. He grabbed the Cloak, unbound Malfoy and hauled him to the hatch — which Lucius had spelled open, revealing a chute descending into darkness. Lucius shook the potion bottle once before he thrust it in Harry’s palm. ‘Once the red leaf has dissolved, it’s safe for Draco to drink.’

Harry sat on the edge of the chute. The sound of the footsteps had almost reached them. Malfoy’s head lolled on his chest. Harry held him tight and looked at Lucius’s grey face. ‘Come with us,’ Harry told him.

Lucius shook his head, looking at his son. ‘I know Draco would have preferred it if his mother had survived instead of me. He never said, but I know it. I’d have preferred it, too. Draco gave up everything for me. The least I can do is delay his attacker.’

With an abrupt shove, Lucius pushed them into the chute and shut the hatch over their heads.

 

They landed in a heap in a tunnel that smelled of blind animals and damp soil. Harry cast a _Lumos_ , but it barely pierced the inky darkness around them. He examined the potion in the weak light. A tiny corner of the leaf remained for a second and then it dissolved, turning the potion a soothing pink. Holding Malfoy’s head, Harry poured it down his throat.

‘ _Rennnervate_!’ he whispered.

Malfoy blinked. He gazed at Harry with lucid eyes, and Harry, exhaling with relief, his chest unclenching for the first time since dinner, cradled his face. He kissed Malfoy hard on the lips and peered into his eyes. ‘You OK?’

Malfoy sat up. ‘Potter, what are you—’ He broke off and looked around. ‘How did we get here?’

‘What do you remember?’ Harry asked.

‘I remember — flashes…’ Malfoy held on to the wall for support and stood. ‘Colours and sounds and — an explosion? Were you and Theo right? Did someone actually try to kill me?’

Harry handed him back his wand and tucked the Cloak inside his shirt. ‘Let’s get out of this stinking place and I’ll tell you.’ He couldn’t tell Malfoy about his cousin, though. He didn’t know how to break the news. So he described the potion and its effects, their fighting on the way to the tower, and the remedy Lucius had concocted. The tunnel went on, endlessly long, full of the sounds of unseen animals.

‘I wish you’d told me about your father. I was imagining all sorts of things.’

‘How could I, Potter? With your connections to the Ministry and the Aurors? A stray word and I’d be out on my ear — or worse.’

The passage climbed upwards. Badgers appeared in the glow of their _Lumos_ and disappeared in the darkness. ‘You were angry with me for not trusting you and yet _you_ didn’t trust me either,’ Harry said. ‘Trust goes both ways.’

Malfoy sighed as they reached steps of packed earth, leading up. ‘This isn’t the right time to talk about our relationship issues, Potter.’

Despite himself, Harry smiled. He couldn’t help it. ‘So we’re in a relationship?’

Malfoy’s blush was a beautiful thing. ‘Stop _flirting_ , Potter; we’re here.’

A marble slab was above them; Malfoy pushed it aside with his wand and pulled himself through. Harry climbed the last step and saw a familiar, violet-lit setting. They were inside Lucius’s empty tomb. He jumped out, noticing the cigarette smoke only at the last minute.

‘ _Expelliarmus_!’

Both their wands flew through the air and Theo Nott caught them, dropping his cigarette on the stone floor as he entered the mausoleum. Behind him, a broom lay on the ground. A silver circlet hung from his belt.

Malfoy blanched when he saw it. With a yell, he lunged, but Nott lazily cast an   _Impedimenta_ that brought him to his knees. Harry pulled him behind the empty tomb.

‘What did you do to my father?’ Draco shouted from behind the tomb. He shook with rage.

Nott laughed. ‘Let’s just say that the tomb you’re hiding behind won’t be empty from now on. You’re now, _truly_ , the Lord of the Manor. You should be thanking me. Dear old Lucius wasn’t fit for anything once I removed the decoder. Do you know how hard it is to perform Legilimency on someone who’s touched in the head? Took me ages to find out where you two had slunk off to.’

Harry held a struggling, furious Draco back. ‘Don’t,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll find a way.’ He glanced around, trying to find something he could use as a weapon, but nothing could stand against a wizard armed with a wand. He made to pull the Cloak out of his shirt.

‘Is it about the fucking cut, Theo?’ Draco was asking now. ‘You could have had all the fucking money from the sale, I didn’t care for that.’

‘It was never about the decoder, you silly man,’ Theo said. ‘Oh, it’ll fetch a tidy sum when I sell it to the right person. But it’s nothing compared to the real prize: the Manor.’

Malfoy froze. Nott continued, ‘Once you’re dead, I stand to inherit. I need you alive for five more minutes to get the instructions for the device, but if that proves too much of a bother, I might just have to dispatch you and sell the prototype alone. Either way—’

A silver net materialised over them. Harry shoved Malfoy out of the way, and the net fell on Harry, clung tightly, and pulled him to Nott. In his struggle, Harry knocked over a candlestick, the violet flames harmlessly licking the floor.

‘Potter,’ Nott smiled, twirling his wand. ‘I have to thank you, too. You made all this possible. So convenient for me to hear that cousin Draco had the hots for you. All that pining for a certain young Gryffindor, who, as it happened, worked as a bodyguard! All I had to do to throw you in Draco’s way was to _hire_ you. I knew poor Draco would be distracted, and well — according to what Flavia said — he _was_. You should be thanking me for that, too, Draco.’

From the corner of his eye, Harry glimpsed Malfoy crawling on the ground, grabbing one of the black candles and wiping the sticky substance off with his sleeve, the violet colour flickering into orange. The net wrapped tighter around Harry, cutting into him painfully. Nott’s face, sneering until now, filled with barely restrained rage. ‘What better way to get back at the man who put my father in prison? What better way than to discredit him in front of everyone, show him for the failure he is? You’re _nothing_ without your fucking Order. And because of your testimony, Draco kept his house _and_ his father, and I had _nothing_!’ He spat the words, twisting his wand, and Harry let out a strangled breath.

Malfoy’s anguished voice came from behind the tomb. ‘Let him go! It’s me you want!’

‘Draco, shut up,’ Harry gasped.

‘Oh, look at the lovebirds,’ Nott sneered. ‘How _romantic_ —’

He didn’t finish. Fast as a snake, Malfoy rose from behind the tomb and threw the sputtering, fiery candle towards Nott, who jumped back with a shriek to avoid the flames.

That split second distraction was enough. Harry kicked Nott’s shins, throwing him on the ground, and Malfoy lunged at his cousin, wrestling Nott’s wand off him. Harry’s binds loosened — he exhaled — then froze. Nott had overcome Malfoy; one of his hands clenched Malfoy’s hair, the other pointed a wand to his neck.

It was Harry’s. Harry stared with horror at his own holly and phoenix wand pointing at Malfoy — he raised open palms — Nott smirked and—

—and flinched violently as Flavia jumped on his back and pressed icy hands inside his chest. ‘Not my brother, you filthy ratbag!’ she yelled. ‘Leave Abraxas alone!’

Nott tried to fight her off, but he convulsed, the cold clearly unbearable as she ran her hands through his body. ‘I can feel his heart!’ she said, a gleam in her eye. Before she could stop Nott’s heart with her hands, Malfoy wrenched the silver circlet from Nott’s belt and placed it on his cousin’s head.

‘ _Ypakouo_ ,’ Malfoy whispered, taking back his own wand. ‘Sit down. Shut up.’

Flavia let Nott go and floated to the ceiling. Nott slid onto the ground in a sitting position, his eyes glazed, his face slack.

Harry retrieved his wand and doused the candle before Nott’s trousers caught fire. He and Malfoy stared at the placid man, sitting calmly on the floor. _Imagine a hundred of them, all controlled at once_. It was terrifying.

Just then, Danver Apparated at the entrance of the mausoleum. Harry noticed with dismay the bruised shins where the elf had punished himself for his disobedience. ‘My lord, the Aurors are coming.’

Malfoy looked at Harry, eyes wide. ‘If they find my father’s body…’

‘Take the Cloak,’ Harry said, pushing it into his hands. ‘Cover his body. I’ll wait for the Aurors.’

Malfoy hopped on the broomstick that Nott had abandoned and flew through the darkness. Stunning and Levitating Nott, Harry hid the decoder in the empty grave, where badgers scratched the wet earth, and made his way to the front of the property.

Half a dozen broomsticks appeared in the rain and half a dozen red-uniformed men landed with a splash on the sodden grass. Harry went to Ron, who was leading them. ‘It’s Theo Nott. He attempted to kill Malfoy for the inheritance.’

 

oOo

 

Lucius was interred in a secret ceremony, attended by his son, his enemy, a house-elf and a ghost. Draco shed no tears, but his hands shook as he placed a wreath of golden roses and black orchids on the tomb, twin to the wreath on Narcissa’s. He looked paler than ever in his dark formal robes and spoke little.

They walked back to the house in silence. The storm had passed, leaving behind a lucidity in the air that made the dripping tree branches shine diamond-bright. The gargoyles on the roof snarled at Harry before they stretched their eyes to the skies, looking for prey. Harry and Draco settled in the solar, a cozy, sunlit room, and Danver served them a cold lunch — a selection of hams and cheeses, and a strong blackberry liqueur in tiny crystal glasses.

‘I don’t know what to do now,’ Draco murmured. ‘For the last year, I had a purpose, of sorts. Even though I resented not being able to leave my father’s side for long.’

Harry linked their hands. His thumb circled Draco’s palm soothingly. ‘I felt the same after the war. Drifting. Untethered.’ _Lost._

‘I used to envy you,’ Draco confessed. ‘Off around the world on an adventure.’

He lay his head on Harry’s shoulder and Harry wrapped an arm around him, deciding he’d explain later that he hadn’t been travelling; he’d been running away. At the same time, the thought that Draco had spent a year with a senile invalid, a half-crazy ghost and a sullen house-elf made his chest constrict in pain. ‘We can travel now. Anywhere you want to go.’

Draco smiled against his shoulder. ‘I want to go to the end of the world, Harry. Will you come with me?’

‘I will. And farther than that.’

 

At the Janus Thickey ward in St Mungo’s, Harry, Hermione, Ron, two Healers, Neville Longbottom and his grandmother watched as Draco placed the circlet on Alice Longbottom’s head. He’d wanted to show Harry what it could do, what had made him wish to sell his invention.

Draco stepped back. Harry watched avidly as the decoder flashed quickly, ripples running over Alice’s face. A minute later, the flashing slowed down. Alice opened her eyes and examined the assorted crowd with curiosity until her gaze landed on her son.

‘Neville?’ she whispered, her breath catching. ‘Is that you?’

Neville flew into his mother’s arms and burst into tears. ‘Mum, oh Mum,’ he repeated in a cracked voice as she caressed his hair and spoke in his ear. ‘I’m here now, I’m here, my love.’

Not a dry eye remained in the room as Neville spoke to his mother for the first time in his memory. Augusta Longbottom sniffled into her linen handkerchief and the Healers exclaimed — _a miracle!_ — wiping their tear-stained faces with their sleeves.

‘You have to let her go, for now,’ Draco said softly. ‘We’ll try the decoder on your father.’

‘A moment. Give me a moment,’ Neville said as he hugged his mother tight. ‘We’ll speak again soon,’ he promised her.

The same thing happened with Neville’s father, and Augusta broke down in desperate sobs when she heard her son call her _Mother_ after two decades of insanity. The sniffling attracted Lockhart’s attention, who drifted down the aisle to see what all the fuss was about.

‘You could make one for him,’ a Healer told Draco, who’d agreed to make a copy of the decoder so Neville’s parents wouldn’t need to share one.

‘Different illness,’ Ron interrupted quickly. ‘Won’t work on him.’

Harry stifled a laugh.

 

Endless Ministry meetings delayed their departure for New Zealand for two weeks. Nott’s confession under Veritaserum had sufficed to convict him to Azkaban for attempted murder. His blabberings about having murdered Lucius were attributed to Veritaserum side effects and disregarded, to Harry's and Draco's relief. What took ages, however, were the meetings Draco had with various departments of the Ministry regarding his decoder and its possibilities. No one wished to see the decoder in the wrong hands, but they couldn’t advocate its destruction, either. Who knew if one day one of them might not need it? The Longbottom case was still fresh on everyone’s mind.

In the end, the conclusion they reached was this: Draco would never sell the plans for the decoder. He’d create copies, as needed, but not more than five in his lifetime. The plans would follow him to his grave. Due to his name and past, Draco was distrusted but Harry’s name helped persuade the Wizengamot that Draco’s intentions had been honourable. However, it wasn’t until Draco made an Unbreakable Vow with Kingsley that the Ministry’s fears were fully assuaged.

‘You’ll spend your life in constant danger of being kidnapped,’ a doddering old man told Draco as he and Harry were leaving the final meeting. Their portkey to Whangarei left in an hour.

Draco glanced at Harry and smiled. ‘I’ll be fine. I have a bodyguard.’

 

**_Fin_ **

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story, press the kudos button, baby! Kudos (kudoses?) feed my soul!
> 
> If you want to talk to me about the fic, please leave a comment. Feel free to flail about what you liked, ask me about a particular scene that stood out for you, or let me know if there was something in the story (not the writing) that jarred with you.
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](http://magpiefngrl.tumblr.com/) if you wanna come say hi :)


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